One Safe Place
by TheKnittingLady
Summary: When the world is cold and cruel and lonely, what is the greatest gift the gods can give? - Reid/OC
1. Chapter 1

_The best and most beautiful things in life cannot be seen or touched, but must felt by the heart." – Helen Keller_

**Travelodge**

**Miami, Florida**

**Spencer**

Another day, another Travelodge. Why? Because the Travelodge gives the government a discount. At the moment Spencer would have given just about anything to be able to remain in this particular Travelodge for the rest of his natural life. Not that it was any better or worse than any other Travelodge, but remaining inside was marginally less painful that going out into the bright, hot Miami sun.

"Hey, man, you OK?" Morgan asked him.

No, I am not okay, Spencer thought. My head is about to explode, I'm seeing double, and I had dry toast for breakfast again in the hopes that it wouldn't make a return trip on the way back home. At the moment I may be the only man in America hoping he's going to go to the doctor tomorrow and find out he has a brain tumor or an aneurysm or something because then he can ask his friends for help and he'll never have to go to the hospital alone. Dear god, I hate being alone. I never want to be that terrified again.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He said to Morgan as he adjusted his glasses and headed outside.

Morgan moved away to load the file boxes into the SUV. For reasons he would never understand, Spencer walked a few steps in the other direction, toward the corner of the building.

"Hey, Doctor."

Spencer looked up with a wince as the light thrust two sharp sticks through his eyes and started beating on the drums inside his skull. It was Julio, the priest that had been working with them on the case, the one who had had the religious experience in front of him. This morning the larger man looked exhausted, haggard. "Julio" he said, by way of greeting.

"I spoke to the saints last night." Julio said. "They had a message for you."

"Is this more about how I'm being chased by ghosts who want to make my head explode?" Spencer asked. At this particular moment he rather thought the explosion might be a pleasant relief. Get it over with, move on. The sensation of my grey matter baking on the wall of this particular Travelodge might actually be pleasant by comparison.

"Some." Julio nodded. "They said you are not the only one being chased. Right now the egun are on your head, but they have been on the others before, and will be again. You anger them, the ghosts of the dead, all of you."

"As far as I know, the other people on my team have never had a problem with headaches." This is utter nonsense, Spencer thought, pure mythology, no more real than tales of the Norse gods, of Olympus. So why am I standing here listening to this?

"No. But the leader of your team lost his wife, no? Did Death not try to destroy his soul? Agent Morgan was arrested for a murder he did not do. The one you call Garcia, she nearly died. And ask Agent Prentiss about the time her nose bled." Julio shook his head. "They already sent away three of your people, the soldier of God, the mother of your godchild. They turned the other to evil to break her soul. They try with you once, but an ifa helped you. Did you not ask where your friend got that tea?"

Tea? Helped me? Spencer thought. Ethan... "How do you know all this?"

"The saints told me. Now they are after you because you are vulnerable. They have pushed away those closest to you but one. The gods wish to return the balance, so now there will be a battle."

Lovely. Mythical deities are fighting over me. "And what do they want me to do?"

"Pray."

"Hey!" Morgan saw who Spencer was talking to and started heading in that direction. The last thing the kid needed was more creepy talk after the past few days.

Spencer frowned as Julio started walking away. "Which God am I supposed to pray to?"

Julio looked back and nodded in Morgan's direction. "His." Spencer winced as a new bolt of pain struck behind his eyes. By the time he could look back up, Julio was gone.

"What the hell was that all about?" Morgan asked, when he came within speaking distance.

"I don't know." Spencer replied, trying not to let the pain filter into his voice. "Tell me it's time to head to the airport."

"Yeah." Morgan said. "Let's go. Miami is not good for you."

**Gulfstream 500**

**Southeastern US Airspace**

Spencer sat in the furthest corner of the plane. His eyes were closed, a book open in his lap, but he was neither reading nor sleeping. He couldn't truly do either, not with the pounding, throbbing pain behind his eyes. Instead he was thinking about the others on the plane with him. They were his friends, people who cared about him, but….

Seaver was new. She looked at him like he was some strange beast crawled out of a display case somewhere. No, it wasn't that, she looked up to him. She was probably his age, or close to, and yet she looked at him like he was this sage, this wise old man with all the answers. She makes me feel ancient, he thought. I've felt about 90 ever since the first time she joined us and I realized I didn't have a chance because she thinks of me as the Fount of All Wisdom, and far too old for her to ever consider as a potential date.

Conversely Rossi treated him as a kid, and not in a good way. He could never get close to the older man, mostly because of his habit of gently hazing everyone. He called it "opportunities for personal growth" when confronted, said in his day agents did it to each other all the time. Yeah, well, whenever it even felt like he was going to pull that kind of thing, even on one of the others, all Spencer could do was hear the jeering of the kids around the goal post again, could feel his pants about to come down. It wasn't that far off, maybe Rossi hadn't realized how hard it would be to climb out of that ditch, but now he was just waiting for the older man to try something else, only worse.

He knew how much he annoyed Emily. They could barely have a conversation without her rolling her eyes and trying to run away. What was he supposed to do, apologize for not having the social skills of a diplomat's daughter? Sorry, Emily, I know I'm wired weird; I'm an embarrassing, annoying freak. We have to work together, so could you at least pretend to enjoy my company once and a while. I'll continue to try to hold my tongue as much as possible, and never tell anyone what I'm thinking, since they never truly want to know.

Hotch had always intimidated him, the perfect, quiet leader. I came in under Gideon, because he had so much pull with the Bureau, and now that he'd gone I keep waiting for Hotch to say that I really don't belong here. That I really ought to go off to the Academy to teach, where I won't get into anyone's way, or embarrass anyone. Where he'll never have to explain that yes, I'm a real agent, even though I still look so young, where he'll never have to worry about Strauss finding out about the NA meetings, where he can stop wondering if I'm going crazy on him. I just know that one of these days he'll decide that I'm more trouble than I'm worth.

And then there was Morgan. Morgan had always been his big brother, perhaps one of his best friends on the team. But ever since he took over as team leader for a time he'd felt like Morgan was just waiting for him to make a mistake, any kind of mistake, and he made them all the time. I'm not a perfect cop. I'm not even a good FBI agent, honestly. I'm a walking computer, and I know Morgan would dearly love to just put me behind a desk and leave me there to process information. He thinks he's doing it to keep me safe, but he's really doing it so he doesn't have to worry about me screwing up somehow, again. That's probably why he's doing that more and more these days, and he's probably right.

So Seaver makes me feel old, Rossi makes me feel scared, Emily makes me feel like I should shut up, Hotch makes me nervous, and Morgan makes me feel like a screw up. I call them friends, but how do you define friends? We have nothing in common. We spend no time out socially anymore because I can't go out drinking after work. I can't talk to them about anything. I can't tell them that I live in the crappiest apartment in DC because I'm sending a third of my paycheck to keep Mom in Bennington, and putting away another third to cover myself in case I end up there, and the remaining third does not stretch far in DC. I can't tell them that the walls are paper thin, so it's never really quiet, or that the Indian place downstairs makes the whole place smell like stale grease and curry. I can't tell them that I'm scared out of my mind that these headaches mean that I'm starting to become schizophrenic like my Mother. I can't tell them that having to keep coming out like this, having to act like Wise Old Dr. Reid while never saying more than what's important to the case and while confronting evil, horrific acts over and over again is causing my stomach to turn against me, that I throw up for every case now because I have to repress every feeling in order to allow them to trust me. I can't tell them I suck down coffee like its water because I have so many nightmares I haven't had a decent night's sleep in years. I could have told JJ, I could have told Gideon, they were kind and gentle and quiet and tried to understand. When they were around things were different. It's different now. These are still my friends, they care about me I'm sure, but I feel so alone. I want to go home, but I don't know where that is.

Julio said I have bad egun on top of me, whatever that is, and it's spoiling my head. I wish it would just get it over with. Maybe if I was in an asylum drugged to the gills I could finally feel warm and safe and home.

* * *

Personal note: I'm going to attempt to track this story along with the rest of season 6, or at least the next few episodes, so there probably won't be more than one or two chapters a week for a while. Eventually I'm sure it will go off the rails into its own universe. And yes, I will be finishing my other stories as well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 02**

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

**Morgan**

Morgan stepped into Hotch's office just as Reid all but stormed out. He's still wearing those glasses, Morgan thought, something is not right here. "Hey Reid, you OK?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." the younger man very nearly snapped. "I've got a dentist appointment; I'm not going to be back today."

"All right," Morgan nodded. "See you tomorrow." As Reid headed out Morgan turned and went the rest of the way into Hotch's office. "What's up with that?"

"Are you referring to his recent behavior in general, what happened in Miami or his anger as he left?" Hotch answered as he settled behind his desk.

Morgan shrugged. "All of the above." He took the seat across from Hotch. "He is not acting right. And not just his usual not right either. He knows better than to go off alone, did you ask him about that?"

"I did. He wasn't able to give me an appropriate answer. I know it's not insubordination, and I don't think he's…having problems again." Problems. Polite euphemism for using drugs. "I ordered him to a critical stress evaluation."

"Well that explains why he left like that. But he can talk rings around the shrinks in the pool, you know that." Morgan said.

"I honestly don't know what else to do." Hotch sighed.

Morgan frowned at him. "You know, you don't look so good yourself."

"I haven't been sleeping well." Hotch admitted. "Jack has been having nightmares. Which is understandable, but…"

Morgan nodded. Between what happened with Foyet, losing Haley, now having to be a single dad to a traumatized boy, Hotch had no resources left to help his friend, as much as Morgan knew he wanted to. "Look man, you have a lot on your plate right now. Let me get after Reid. I'll see what I can do to help."

"Thank you."

* * *

Just as Morgan was leaving Hotch's office he got a text from an all too familiar source. _Get in here_.

A moment later he was walking into Penelope Garcia's lair. "You summoned me My Goddess?" He paused for a moment. "What's that smell?"

"Yes. Yes I did." Garcia was all a flutter, clearly upset with something. "That's sage; I was keeping the bad vibes out of my servers. And I'm glad I did too. Seaver just left, she said the Unsub got a hold of Reid.. What happened? Was he hurt? Tell me everything!"

"Calm down babygirl. Reid's fine, he didn't get hurt." Morgan put his hands on Garcia's shoulders and guided her back into her chair. "He has been acting weird though, I'll give you that. He was checking out a suspect's bedroom, and then he stripped off his vest and wandered off. He ended up in the house next door where the Unsub held him at gun point for a while. He said he told the Unsub he was getting a headache, which distracted him long enough for Reid to get the upper hand. He told us he made it up, but I don't think that's right, he's been having headaches for days now, since before we left for Miami." Morgan frowned and shook his head. "Something about this case got to him."

"Hey guys, what's going on?" Emily Prentiss came in with a file, the contents of which were utterly forgotten as soon as she saw the concern on her friends' faces.

"Reid." Morgan said. "He's been acting strange lately. Well, stranger than usual."

"It's not just this case. Kevin caught him throwing up in the bathroom the other day." Garcia informed them. "And he usually asks to use one of my computers to register at George Washington, but he hasn't this semester."

"He's been spending as much time in the bathroom on the plane as the rest of us put together." Emily added. "And he's been eating antacids like they're candy." She paused for a moment. "Do you think he's sick? Or, you know…sick again?"

Morgan nodded in the direction of the door, which Emily closed behind her. Then he nodded at Garcia, who typed in the command to shut down all recording devices in the office. She wasn't supposed to, but she could fix it up later easily enough. "No, I don't think he's using again. He's not acting like a junkie. He may be sick, though. Babygirl, can you check his medical records, see if he's been to a doctor lately."

"Give me two seconds." Garcia turned and started typing. A moment later windows began flashing up on her screen. "Wow, has he. Looks like he had a full neurological workup at Georgetown last week; chief complaints headaches, nausea, dizziness, insomnia. He had a CAT scan, an MRI, blood workup, you name it."

"Okay, now I'm worried too." Emily said. "Do they have any of the results back yet?"

Garcia typed some more. "As of yesterday, it looks like it all came back normal. He's in perfect health. And he has an appointment to learn that this afternoon."

"He said he was going to the dentist." Morgan grumbled. "What the hell is going on with him?"

"Is there any way to find out?" Emily asked.

"Hotch ordered him to a critical stress evaluation." Morgan told her.

"Oh, yeah, like that's going to help. He'll just end up analyzing whoever they assign to him." Emily replied, and then gave voice to her second concern. "Could he be developing schizophrenia like his mom?"

Morgan shook his head. "He's not showing the right kinds of symptoms. Even he couldn't control his behavior to the extent he'd need to hide that."

"Guys," Garcia said. "I could do a…thing."

"What kind of a thing?" Emily asked as Morgan stood to look over Garcia's shoulder.

Garcia turned to her computer and opened a simple e-mail window.

* * *

_From: penelope,garcia(at)fbi,gov_

_To: gideon(at)eruditorium,org_

_

* * *

_

She turned back. "Hotch specifically told me not to contact him, but…it's Reid."

Morgan looked at the two women, then at the screen. "Let me type."

**Spencer Reid's apartment**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

He was not going to puke. He was not going to puke. He was not going to add to the vile smell in the stairwell by puking over the railing.

Spencer climbed up the three flights of stairs to his apartment, unlocked all four locks, went inside and locked them all behind him. Then he stuck a chair under the knob for good measure. Not that that would stop Frank, he thought, not that it would stop Foyet. If Gideon and Hotch couldn't be safe in their own homes, are any of us safe at all? I used to at least feel a little safe here, but nto anymore.

Right inside the door was the postage stamp of a kitchen, directly across from the closet sized bath, which meant that he didn't have to go far to find the Pepto, regardless of where he'd left it that morning. Taking his precious bottle of gooey pink goodness he went into the single room of the apartment and flopped onto his bed, letting his bag fall where it may.

That doctor was a quack, he thought. He was supposed to be an expert in his field but clearly the man had coasted through medical school. Maybe he cheated on all his exams, slept with the evaluator, bribed the exam board, something. I am not going crazy. I know the symptoms of schizophrenia, and I don't have them. Not all of them. I am not going crazy and how dare he imply that I am.

Spencer rolled over, sat up enough to take a swig from the bottle as his stomach twisted again. Now I have to go see one of the Bureau shrinks, now I have to dance through that bullshit while I feel like this. I want to go home, he thought, I want someone to help me, I want this to stop. I can't do this anymore. He rolled into a ball as his stomach knotted and his heart started pounding. "Help." He whimpered in a soft, strangled voice.

A moment later his phone started ringing.

Spencer rolled and uncurled long enough to find his bag and fish out his phone. He took a few deep breaths to get the pain under control long enough to answer the unfamiliar number. "Hello."

"I could hear you screaming all the way down here." Julio said.

"How did you get this number?" Spencer asked.

Julio laughed. "Did you pray like I told you to?" He asked. "No. You went to the doctor. I could have told you you're not sick."

"I'm not crazy!" Spencer all but yelled into the phone. "I'm not!"

"No, you are not crazy. The saints told you, you have bad egun on your head. You must find out what they are doing to you."

"I don't believe in such things. I don't believe in god." Spencer gasped as another wave of pain managed to grip him behind the eyes and behind the naval at the same time. "They're making me sick is what they're doing."

"No, you are not sick. The doctor told you you're not sick. The charm I gave you is from Ornula, he will keep you from getting sick. For a time. The feeling of sickness is the tool the egun are using to keep you from something important."

"What?" Whatever it is, Spencer thought, tell me so I can do it and make this stop. Please.

"I don't know. I don't know you." Julio laughed again. "You and your friends are smart, you'll figure it out. Now listen to me." He began to chant something in a language Spencer had never heard before.

When it was over Spencer asked, "What was that?"

"A prayer to Ornula to help you sleep without dreams. Tonight you will sleep. But you must find out what you must do, and soon. And in the meantime you must do two things to survive."

"What is that?" Anything, Spencer thought, just make this stop.

"Trust your friends. They care for you far more than you believe. Any thoughts otherwise are the egun trying to isolate you. Don't let them. And pray." With that Julio hung up the phone.

Spencer shut his phone and flopped back on the bed. Great. Such stunningly good advice. At least it shouldn't be that hard to follow. He'd trusted the team this far, he knew they cared, and were worthy of his trust. Even if they could, probably would, leave him tomorrow. But I don't pray.

A moment later he realized that his stomach had settled, and the headache was starting to ease. The Pepto must be working, he thought. He thought little else, because a moment later he was fast asleep.

**Chapter 02**

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

**Morgan**

Morgan was just wrapping up for the day when he got another text from his queen. _Thing worked_.

He headed back up to Garcia's lair to read the message over her shoulder.

* * *

_From: gideon(at)eruditorum,org_

_To: penelope,garcia(at)fbi,gov_

_Re: Reid needs help_

_There should be a Dr. Judith Messer in the rotation, she's new to the Bureau. Have Reid assigned to her, then do whatever she tells you._

_ -JG_

_

* * *

_

"And?" Morgan asked.

"I already hacked into the assignment program and fixed it." Garcia told him. "Assuming no one decides to start shooting up the countryside or something between now and then he has an appointment Monday at three o'clock."

Morgan smiled at her. "That's my goddess." He dropped a kiss on her head before heading out. They had done something, at least. He only hoped it would be enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Shoot up the countryside." Garcia muttered to herself as she changed Spencer's appointment with Dr. Messer. "This is what I get for opening my mouth and tempting Murphy."

**Bozeman Police Department**

**Bozeman, MT**

**Spencer**

Spencer was deeply grateful to Hotch for leaving him behind on this one. It wasn't a problem while the Unsubs were shooting up gas stations. In fact it was rather a relief. When they were out on a case like this the chances of them being called back, of anything actually happening to anyone, was actually slim. It was emergent, a wild team of spree killers had to be stopped right now, and yet it was unlikely that spree killers would turn around and deliberately go after Feds. For all that these people are horrifically violent, Spencer thought, we're all actually rather safe. When he'd had that realization, somewhere over Ohio, his stomach had unknotted and his headache had eased. This promised to be a decent case.

Until the Unsubs shot up an AA meeting.

His friends knew why he knew so much about 12-step meetings, and he knew they knew. But they never asked about the "movies" he went to, respecting his desire to deal with that part of his life on his own, to fix that screw-up privately. So long as it was never discussed then Hotch never had to officially deal with it, and so he spared them all having to explain to The Powers That Be. Just thinking of what Strauss would do to him, to all of them, if she found out made him want to go find the nearest bathroom and return lunch to its elemental state. That was why he could never complete step 9 well, he couldn't go to his teammates and make amends, he didn't dare discuss it with his best friends.

And then there was Rossi.

So far as he knew, Rossi didn't know. He knew no one on the team would tell him, they considered it his secret to tell. And he would never tell the older agent. His first worry was that he'd go straight to Strauss, they had some kind of history and Spencer just _knew_ Rossi didn't think he belonged on the team. It would be the perfect excuse to get rid of him.

But, no, he wouldn't go to Strauss, because then she would come down on Hotch again, and Spencer knew Rossi would never do that to his old friend. No, Rossi would just make his life miserable. He felt himself wincing internally as he pictured what Rossi would do. Drink in front of him, sure. Wave a glass of scotch under his nose at some point. Maybe even 'accidentally' spill it on him so he'd go home drowning in the soft, smoky scent. Bring it up at any possible junction, but only in a vague, implied "I didn't mean it" way that would leave him squirming and embarrassed and miserable. And he wouldn't stop until Spencer had finally given up, had run like the big baby Rossi considered him to be.

Just like all the other bullies he'd ever known.

**Then**

**Rossi**

_Rossi stood on the walkway and watched as Morgan very deliberately went to the break room and came back with an ice pack for Reid. Once again he was babying the kid. It rankled, was what it did. He'd looked into the background of all his new team mates, and that kid had a waiver for every physical activity the Academy dished out. How the hell was he supposed to trust that the kid had his back when he couldn't even put out a decent run? And not only didn't it bother anyone else, they treated him like some precious child._

_So when Morgan went by on the way to his office, he asked him. "Why do you do that?"_

"_Do what?"_

"_Baby him. In my day if an Agent couldn't keep up he either went home on sick leave, or went home and stayed home."_

_Morgan looked over at Reid, sitting there with his foot braced on a file drawer, the ice over his knee, and shook his head. "Just leave it alone, man. Kicking in doors was never his job. He's working fine."_

"_Whatever." Rossi gave up in disgust and headed in to his own office._

_

* * *

_

"_So she was abducted 32.9 miles west of here, which means if they went the speed limit they got here in 30 minutes or less." Spencer informed Rossi as they walked along the fence between the highway and the ditch where the last victim had been found._

"_So, how long is it going to take you to get in that ditch?" Rossi asked him. Everyone else might baby you Doctor Reid, he thought, but I refuse to play that game._

"_Get in that ditch? I got shot in the knee, remember? My doctor said I'm not allowed to do any climbing."_

"_It's a ditch." Suck it up ya big baby, Rossi thought_

_Spencer looked at the ditch, then looked down, "New boots, huh?" He asked as he headed down the hill. "Italian leather?"_

"_Yeah, what can I tell ya." Rossi smiled inwardly as Reid headed down the hill. There ya go kid, grow a pair and stop whining. He looked around. "So, uh, from here I can be seen by any passing vehicle."_

"_And I can't." Spencer said_

"_So she was dumped at night?"_

"_Must have."_

"_He drives up, dumps the body, job done, he leaves," neat and simple, Rossi thought._

"_I don't think so." Spencer said._

"_What?" Why can't you ever leave it easy, you little pain in the ass._

"_All five victims were found posed in the fetal position with their right arm palm up, left arm palm down." Spencer reminded him. _

"_Remorse?"_

"_Or staging."_

"_To look like what?'_

"_Like they're asleep."_

"_You have any ideas why?" Come on, big brain, Rossi thought, give me something. Prove your worth._

_Spencer thought about it a moment. "No."_

_That's what I thought. "Well, I guess there is a first time for everything." Rossi said, as he walked away._

_Spencer turned and called after him. "Hey Rossi! I'm going to need a little help getting out of this ditch….Rossi!...Rossi?...I got it!"_

_Yeah, you got it. Rossi thought. Suck it up kid, I am not babying you._

**Morgan**

_Morgan woke from dozing on the plane, looked over at the couch where Spencer was sitting there, rubbing his knee and wincing. "Hey kid." He called over quietly, so as not to wake the others. "You okay?"_

"_Yeah, I'm fine." Morgan could hear the pain crackling in his friend's voice. Spencer seemed to be concentrating on his breathing, fighting the pain for all he was worth. "I stressed it too much, that's all."_

"_Hang on." Morgan got up and went to the galley for an ice pack. He knew Spencer had been limping when he came back from checking the dump site with Rossi. I should have kept him with me, he thought, sent Prentiss with Rossi. Rossi doesn't know that Reid hasn't had any pain meds since they took him off the IV at the hospital. We're just trying to make it easier on him so he doesn't _have_ to have any. I'd like to see Rossi recover from a bullet to the knee with nothing in his system stronger than coffee, Morgan thought, if it was me I'd be popping pills all the day long. He came back with the cold pack and offered it to Spencer._

"_Thank you." Spencer mumbled. He put it on his knee and Morgan could tell that he went back to counting breaths, forcing the pain to remain at bay._

"_Anytime," Morgan went back to his seat. Can't keep up my ass, Morgan thought, I want someone that strong at my back any day_

**Now**

**Bozeman Police Department**

**Bozeman, MT**

**Spencer.**

To this day he didn't know how he'd made it through. He'd come in every day as soon as he could get up on crutches, determined to show them that he was fine, he could keep up just like any agent. And then he'd go home at night, crawl up four flights of stairs backward, only to lay on his bed and just rock in agony, the tears streaming down his face until his exhausted body simply had to sleep, only to get up the next day and the next and the next. He didn't know how, but he had done it, and he was proud of that.

Still, even now, he could remember what the drugs felt like, the sweet, soft heat stealing into his blood, taking all the pain with it. Nothing could hurt him when it was in his veins, not his body or his spirit. It was a warm, gentle form of heaven, to be able to lie there without a fear in the world, to just lose himself in the safe hallways of his own mind. To spin fantasies of a safe, quiet, warm place where he could be himself and someone loved him and would never leave.

That's just a drug fueled dream, he thought, and not worth ruining everyone's life over.

He took a sip from his mug, wondering why cop coffee had to be that bad, as his phone went off. Looks like they caught up with the Unsubs at last.

* * *

Some dialogue taken from _Criminal Minds_ episode 5:17 "Solitary Man." No copyright infringement intended.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

**Garcia**

Well, the Unsubs were dead, and on their honeymoon too. That was a sad thing, but at least it meant her family was safe. Now they just had to finish taking notes on everything for the archives. The safe part, Garcia thought, and thank goodness for that. I can stop worrying.

From behind her there was a small knock on her door. "Ms. Garcia?" an older, female voice asked.

Garcia turned to see an appropriately older woman standing there, in professional looking clothes and sensible shoes, her grey hair cut to lie close to her head, emphasizing gentle, intelligent grey eyes. "Um, yeah. Can I help you?" No one ever comes up here, Garcia thought. This is really different.

"I'm Doctor Judith Messer." She stepped forward, closing the door behind her and offering her hand. "An old friend said you could help me."

"An old friend?" Garcia asked as she shook hands. Oh, of course. "Hang on." She turned and shut down her recorders. "What can I do for you?"

"I need everything you can find for me on Dr. Spencer Reid."

"Um, I don't understand." Color Penelope confused, she thought. "Didn't they give you his personnel file?"

"Yes." Dr. Messer held up the file she was holding. "But it doesn't hold the sort of information that will help me."

"Oh, all right," Garcia turned and found her pen, ready to take a few notes to help. "So, now, where I should start?"

"Start with Diana Reid's pre-natal medical records. Also her records since that time, and anything you can get me from her Bennington files. Then I want Dr. Reid's medical files, all of his educational records as well as copies of his thesis papers, and copies of every case he's worked on for the BAU. And while you're at it, check with Las Vegas CPS during the years from birth to age 18, as well as police reports and health department records." She smiled gently. "That ought to give us a good start."

A good start, Garcia thought, seriously? "Um, I'm not sure all that is legal."

"Then we'd best keep it all off the record." Dr. Messer was still smiling. "I'm afraid your reputation precedes you, my dear."

Garcia sighed. It was Reid, this was their best shot. "I suppose you want it all hard copy, don't you?"

"Please."

**Manning Gas and Shop**

**Spokane, WA**

**Spencer**

Ray and Syd, Spencer thought, together until the end. Hell of a way to spend a honeymoon. Spencer stood looking over the crime scene. More specifically looking over the car they'd driven here in, the convertible.

The one with the wedding dress in the trunk.

Sure, it was tattered and blood stained and reeked of whisky and black powder, but it had once been white as snow; as had Sydney Manning, once upon a time. But that didn't matter, Spencer thought, not at all. What mattered is that Ray had her, right up until the end. She'd even shot the father who abused him. In a strange, sick, twisted way, it was romantic as anything.

I need a vacation, Spencer thought. I am envying a sociopath for having a psychopath who loved him. Romance among the Unsubs. But I do envy him; he had someone who promised to be at his side, on his side, forever. Even death didn't part them. That meant something, even for them. I wish….

**Then**

**Reid home**

**Las Vegas, NV**

"_So," Diana Reid sat on the couch behind her son who was on the floor, watching Star Trek again. "I read in the parent newsletter that your school has a dance coming up."_

"_I know." Spencer told her, his stomach doing flips, "I'm not going." He could tell from the way she was moving, the look in her eyes, that she was having one of her spells again. Anything was possible now. Mom loved him, he knew that, and he loved her more than anything, but when she got sick anything could happen. She could throw things, break things, set things on fire. Sometimes she hit without realizing. She's sick, Spencer thought, she can't help it. But I really wish she could._

"_Good." Diana said, in a warm, approving voice, "Because girls who go to dances only want to do dirty things, very dirty things." She was rocking back and forth, lost in her own delusion. "Promise me you'll never do something dirty with a girl, Spencer, I don't want you to get into trouble that way."_

"_I promise, Mom." Yeah, like a girl would even look at me. He could still feel the hot, shameful terror from the night everyone laughed at him. Maybe when he got to college everything would be better. Surely he wouldn't be the smartest any more; maybe it would be okay, if he could just survive until then._

"_You promise? You promise?" Diana asked, a louder, angry note coming into her voice. "How can I trust you with this Spencer? I couldn't even trust your father not to want that sort of thing. He didn't know, but you, you're an intelligent boy. You'll remember what not to do. Let me tell you…"_

_Spencer sighed inwardly. This was going to be a long night._

**Now**

**Manning Gas and Shop**

**Spokane, WA**

Spencer sighed as his mother's intricate, specific sex lesson crawled across his mind, unbidden. He knew it was just her paranoid delusions getting the better of her, making her quite convinced that her eleven year old son was going to come home with some high school cheerleader, proudly announcing the impending arrival of her grandchild. But there was an intimacy about it that still turned his stomach after all these years. That and the memory of the times he was laughed at, the time on the goal post he'd shared with Morgan, the times in the locker room, the time out behind the cafeteria, the vivid, unbidden memory of all of it made his testicles want to crawl up into his abdomen and hide there. That was why nothing happened in the pool with Lila Archer, why he'd let what happened with Austen fade away. He'd thought about what he wanted to try, and then next thing there was his Mother in his head, telling him he was dirty for even thinking it. Which was ridiculous, Spencer thought. Even JJ did it, she must have to bring Henry into the world, and there was nothing wrong with her. And Ray the sociopath clearly didn't have a problem getting Syd to do those things with him.

No, Spencer thought, it's just me. A sociopath can get a girl, but a human computer doesn't need human companionship. He's supposed to be above such things. Spencer felt a huge weight tugging on his chest, dragging him down to the earth. I should have had an electrocardiogram, he thought. My luck I'm working on a heart attack.

Morgan wandered over. "You okay kid?" He still looks like hell, he thought.

Spencer sighed and nodded. "Hell of a way to spend a honeymoon."

I'd prefer the Caribbean myself." Morgan commented. "Maybe that's why they wanted to go to Aruba."

Spencer didn't look up. Please don't laugh at me, he thought. "I always thought New England would be nice. You know, those little inns up there." Please don't laugh.

"Oh yeah, big feather bed, roaring fire, that would work too." Morgan nodded his agreement, "A lot better than the backseat of a car while running from the Feds." He looked over to where the crime scene guys were finishing with the station proper. "Come on, it's our turn in there."

He didn't laugh, Spencer thought, maybe that's not a bad idea. He followed his friend toward the station, knowing that tonight he'd go to sleep imagining starting out the rest of his life in a little inn somewhere with someone who loved him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Manning Gas and Shop**

**Spokane, WA**

**Spencer**

Spencer looked up as Hotch hung up the phone. "Everyone leave everything alone. " Hotch said. "They're sending out another team to go over our notes and the crime scene."

Morgan frowned at that. "What for?"

"Strauss has decided to open an investigation." Hotch told them. He turned and looked at the reporters rimming the crime scene. "Apparently this is being portrayed as overkill, and that we put a child in danger."

Morgan sighed. "Damm I mss JJ."

"So do I." Hotch said.

Spencer felt his stomach slowly turn into a knot, then double. Then double again.

**Gulfstream 500**

**North Central US Airspace**

Spencer slumped back in his seat, exhausted. They all were. They had had to stay at the crime scene, wait for the other team, wait for another round of forensics, answer questions, answer more questions. Answer more. Now all Spencer wanted to do was sleep, he could usually get his best sleep on the plane, but he was too nervous about what was going on back at Quantico to do more than doze. Strauss was going after Hotch again. She was going after all of them. It was entirely possible someone on this team would be gone by this time tomorrow.

I don't want to lose another friend, he thought, I don't. I'm so tired.

**Then**

**Blacker House**

**California Institute of Technology**

_There was a reason why they referred to the freshman section of the house as "hell". It was cold in the winter, even for Pasadena, hot in the summer, and the rooms were both small and awkward. But Spencer had had high hopes for this place. He might be young, but at least he wasn't the biggest geek in the school. Not in *this* school. Surely here everyone would leave him alone._

_He'd been up late the night before, finishing his Chemistry paper, then he'd had a full day of lectures and labs to be off tomorrow. Now he just wanted to catch an hour or so before going to turn in his paper, then getting to the station to catch a train back home to Vegas. He'd talked to Mom last night and she sounded like she was losing it again._

_The problem was, when he got to his room, it wasn't there._

_There was no longer a door. Not a door frame, not the memo board he'd hung there, nothing. It was a blank wall. He went outside only to find that his window was gone as well, replaced by blank stucco._

_It wasn't until he heard the faint snickering coming from another room that he realized that he had just fallen victim to one of the classic CalTech pranks. They had even re-wired the hallway to put a wall sconce where his door ought to be. That's full on construction, or it's supposed to be, he thought. Taking it down is going to take hours, and I have to get that paper in and be on the Southwest Chief at 6 or Mom will have a paranoia attack and maybe drive out here and that would be so much worse. And it's 4 already. _

_Spencer sighed. His best bet was to go to the library and retype the paper from memory. There went any chance he had of sleeping before he got on the train. Which meant he was sure to fall asleep sometime during the night, which meant he would once again wake up with some stranger trying to grope him under a blanket. His stomach turned at the thought. Mental note, he thought, start carrying everything you need for the next 24-48 hours with you at all times, just in case. I'm so tired. I thought college was going to be better. I guess I was wrong._

**Now**

**BAU headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

It was tomorrow. And not a pleasant one.

"I'll have to interview each member of the team to sort out what happened, when you lost control of the situation." Erin Strauss said as she kept pace with Hotch on his walk through the bullpen.

"We never lost control of the situation." Hotch informed her.

Chief Strauss stopped and looked at him. "There was a child in the line of fire. How can that not indicate a loss of control?" She turned and kept walking, forcing Hotch to keep up with her.

Spencer's stomach churned. He remembered the last time he'd had to face Strauss. He'd stood up to her for Hotch, because she was trying to change the facts, and he remembered the facts in perfect detail. He was dammed proud of himself for that moment, for not bolting and running at the look on her face. But it wasn't something he wanted to do again. Not after she'd sent JJ away. For all he knew any of them could be next.

And now he had to face her again. He had to.

He remembered the last time he'd seen a look like the one she'd given him when he told her about his eidetic memory, and how he knew the facts….

**Then**

**Chaparral High School**

**Las Vegas, NV**

_What could he say? He was eleven, what did he know about impressing girls. So when Trent Hartman bragged about his A+ paper to some of the cheerleaders, he didn't know he wasn't supposed to correct him and say he wrote the paper. What did he know?_

_Now he knew better. He could tell from the look that Trent was giving him, that he had just messed up Trent's reality, and now Trent was royally pissed. "Hey look boys." Trent said to the rest of the football team. "Someone left something on the quad. Looks small enough to be trash, don't it?"_

_There was no way to outrun them. A moment later and he was being carried, kicking and screaming, over to the big dumpster behind the cafeteria. A moment past that and he was tossed in, the lid dropped down with a deafening clang, and then they were pounding on the sides to increase the volume. Spencer plugged his ears and screamed until they were satisfied and went away, laughing._

_This was not the first time he'd been tossed in a dumpster. The first step was to get it over with and empty your stomach. It was going to happen eventually, and at least this way you could puke away from your working area. Once that little chore was done he went to work shoring up the pile of soured milk cartons and food already soft and rotting in the desert heat, trying to get the pile high enough that he could get some leverage under the lid and climb out. The goal was to do that before you cooked inside the hot, metal can._

_Only this time things were different. He hadn't realized just how angry Trent was at having his vision of reality disrupted by the facts. Spencer was about three-quarters of the way through the shoring process when he heard someone climbing the outside of the can. Then the top opened and Trent and two of his closest buddies glared down at him. "I don't want to cause a problem for the cafeteria ladies." Trent sneered at him. "I figured we'd come pack the trash a little tighter."_

_It got much worse after that._

**Now**

**BAU headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

With immense strength and every ounce of calm he could muster he rose and headed for the smaller bathroom on the far side of the break room. Once inside he bolted the door, leaned over the toilet and let his stomach empty. Might as well get that over with first. Once that was dealt with he went to the sink and rinsed his mouth, water first, then some of the mouthwash he'd started keeping in his satchel.

I used to love this place, he thought.

I used to love this place when Morgan was down in the bullpen, and it was him and me and Emily and we could goof around. When I could show them how to set off picture canister rockets and could wear costumes for Halloween and we could celebrate birthdays. When everyone stayed out of Gideon's way and he kept everyone safe so we could do our jobs and then go home and relax. But now no one can relax, they're all worried about Strauss and being sent away to punish Hotch or each other. I used to love this place, but I just can't anymore. I know she can't throw me into a dumpster, but she looks like she would love to see me there. I can't even leave, not that I would leave my friends. I have to keep paying for Bennington.

He leaned against the mirror and savored the coolness a moment. Then he turned and straightened and pulled it together through sheer force of will, and stepped back out into the office proper. A moment later a junior agent came up to him. "Dr. Reid?"

"Yes?"

"Chief Strauss would like to meet with you now."

"All right."

* * *

Spencer stepped out of the conference room, nodded to Emily who was on her way, walked away from the room and sighed. Last time Strauss had been pissed at him because he had all the facts. This time, in a crazy making turn, she was pissed at him because he _didn't_ have all the facts. He hadn't been in Spokane.

"Why did Agent Hotchner leave you in Bozeman?"

Because he didn't want Rossi picking on me and figuring out why I know so much about 12-step programs. "I don't know, Ma'am. You'd have to ask Agent Hotchner that."

Spencer sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. All he could do was give her the facts and let the rest fall. That was the only weapon he had. He only hoped he had defended Hotch and the others well enough.

"Dr. Reid?"

Spencer looked up. There was someone new in the department. An older woman with gray hair and disconcertingly intelligent eyes was standing a few feet away, gently smiling at him. "Yes?"

"I'm Dr. Judith Messer. I believe we have an appointment."

The critical stress review. Oh good crap. "Yes, I believe so. I'm sorry, I was meeting with Chief Strauss, it ran long."

"Oh, that's all right. Let's go to my office."

* * *

Morgan and Emily were looking everywhere for Reid. Finally they checked with Garcia. "Hey Garcia," Emily said. "Have you seen Mr. Wizard anywhere?"

"Yeah, on the security monitors." Garcia told them. "I was watching your faces as you came out of your meetings, trying to see if everything was okay or not."

"Everything's fine. It was a clean shoot." Morgan told her. "Strauss was just using the media coverage as an excuse to harass us, that's all. So what do you mean you saw him on the monitors?"

Just as she was about to tell him, Emily's phone went off. She shook her head over the text. "Guys, I have to go. This won't keep any longer. Keep me in the loop about Reid?" They agreed that they would, and she left.

Morgan turned to Garcia. "What was that all about?"

"Some sexy Scottish guy. Anyway, just after he came out of his meeting with Chef Strauss Dr Messer cornered Reid and dragged him off to her office for their little chat."

"Just after?' Morgan checked his watch. "That was about three hours ago. Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I checked. And…oh." Garcia looked up as the door to Dr. Messer's office was pulled open. Reid didn't exactly run out of there, but he was sure walking quickly, and his sunglasses went on as soon as he reached the hallway. Dr. Messer stepped out and watched him go, a concerned look on her face. Then she looked up at the camera and crooked a finger in the traditional 'come here' sort of way.

"Oh, she is scary good." Garcia commented. "Tell me what she says?"

"I will babygirl." Morgan squeezed her shoulder before heading down.


	6. Chapter 6

**Office of Dr. Judith Messer**

**Quantico, VA**

**Morgan**

Morgan left Garcia's lair and headed down to Dr. Messer's office. On the way he crossed paths with Hotch. "Hey. You don't have to be here, you know, I got this."

"It's an official report." Hotch reminded him. "I don't want Strauss to say I neglected this situation."

Once at the doctor's office they found her behind her desk, waiting for them. Clearly this was not going to take long. They exchanged a few pleasantries, introductions, and got down to business. "So, what's your evaluation?"

Dr. Messer picked up a slim, official folder on her desk. "My recommendation is that Dr. Reid receives a medical evaluation for possible migraines, which may have been the cause of his behavior in Miami. Otherwise he's competent and there is no reason for him not to remain on full duty."

Migraines, Morgan looked at Hotch and sighed; a neat and tidy problem that would deflect the question of what happened in Miami, and wouldn't harm his career. Reid had just taken out another Bureau shrink. Hotch spoke up, "All right Dr. Messer, I'll see to it that he makes a medical appointment." The two men stood to go, and headed for the door.

"Ah, Agent Hotchner," They turned to look back at the doctor, who was holding up that slim, labeled file. "That was my…official report."

Oh.

Morgan looked at Hotch and nodded, he had this. "If you will excuse me, I need to return to my office." Hotch said as he nodded to the doctor, and stepped out of the office.

Morgan returned to the desk. "I assume you have an unofficial report?" He mentally crossed his fingers. Gideon had to be right; this lady had to be able to help somehow.

"Off the record?" She asked

"Completely," he replied.

Dr. Messer gestured back to the chairs in front of her desk. Once they were seated she very deliberately set aside the slender, official folder, reached down into her drawer, and pulled out one that was nearly six inches thick. Not just a single file, it was a collection of files, everything she and Garcia could find on the life of one Dr. Spencer Reid. "What do you know about Complex Post-traumatic Stress Disorder?"

"Not much." Morgan admitted. "It's not in the _DSM_."

"Not in the current one," she said. "A number of groups are petitioning to have it included in the next volume, including the VA. They're running field trials now." She settled back into her chair and began to explain. "Complex PTSD is a psychological injury caused when the victim is held in a state of captivity, physically or emotionally. In these situations the victim is under the control of the perpetrator and unable to flee and so has to endure repeated physical and or psychological trauma over a period of time."

Morgan frowned as he considered this. "So this is stemming from what happened with Tobias Hankel?" This can't all just be that, he thought, Reid was well over that.

"Oh no, Agent Morgan, Complex PTSD develops over the long term, months or years of an ongoing state of literal or virtual captivity. The most common causes in the US are cases of domestic violence or abuse."

Morgan shook his head. "I don't understand. We've met his mother, she loves her son. She'd never hurt him."

"Deliberately, no, I don't believe she did. But it's rarely just one perpetrator or one incident; it's a constant, ongoing series of offences that lead up to the sense of being hopelessly out of control. Childhood alone is a state of captivity, a child cannot change their caregiver, can't feed or clothe themselves, can't leave when the situation around them gets violent. Now many children in this situation have a way out, school becomes a refuge, one parent tries to protect them, a grandparent steps in. But in the cases where there's no refuge, no safe place or safe person with whom one can find respite a state of virtual captivity can develop, which can lead to this kind of psychological injury. And in his case this is compounded by a series of traumatic losses, from which he's had no chance to heal. But let's look at the facts." Dr. Messer started with the thick file on the top of the pile, "Diana Reid's medical records."

"Is that even legal?" Morgan asked. He knew Gideon would send them to someone good, but starting that far back was impressive.

Dr. Messer gave him a look that asked him not to interrupt with trivialities, and then continued. "She started showing signs of schizophrenia not long before Spencer was conceived, and had to go off her medication while pregnant. According to the notes made by her psychiatrist, this caused a great deal of friction in her marriage. She and her husband fought nearly constantly as a result of her behavior that turned out later to be symptomatic."

"A lot of families fight." Morgan argued. "A lot of kids go through a lot of problems at home."

Dr. Messer ignored him for the moment. Instead she picked up the next file, "Reilly Jenkins, the first loss when he was four, was it? I believe you're familiar with the case. Not long after that he suffered the second, when his father left. At that point things began to go downhill."

"We know he had to take care of his mother." He pointed out. "But given his mental abilities he was capable. He did it for years."

"Yes, but he was still a _child_." Dr. Messer pointed out. "Regardless of his mental abilities, emotionally he was still four, perhaps younger."

"Perhaps younger?" Morgan asked.

Dr. Messer sighed. "He has Asperger's syndrome, it places him on the autistic spectrum. Now in his case, it's mild, he's clearly high functioning. But children with autistic tendencies tend to mature slightly more slowly than normal children. On a social and emotional level he's two to three years behind his physical age. Which doesn't really matter once an individual reaches their mid-twenties, the difference between say, 27 and 29 is slight. But back then it was far more important, the difference between nine and twelve is immense." She shook her head. "However you look at it, he was a child. And Diana Reid was expending all the control and energy she had trying to work and support herself and her child, she had nothing left to care for either him or herself at home."

"Was it really that bad?" Morgan asked. He'd had problems of his own, with Buford mostly. But he'd made it through well enough. How much worse did it have to be for Reid to end up like this?

Dr. Messer picked up the next thick file, "CPS and police reports. Complaints of hearing her violent raging in the home, concerns from his teachers that he wasn't eating, his clothes weren't clean, that he was truant from school, complaints to the Health Department about the state of the house, all signs of neglect. Now I don't believe she was doing this deliberately, she was simply too sick to function at work and care for a child. Every time the problem was resolved, when CPS went out for a follow up the house was cleaned, the laundry done, he no longer seemed hungry. But based off my interview and her medical records, I don't believe that she was responding to the complaints. I believe that he was acting as her spouse, not…" she held up a hand, "…in the physical sense, there's absolutely no indication of that, thank God, but in the emotional sense. He was performing the remediation, acting as his own parent; all the while comforting her while she broke down over the possibility of his leaving her too, in other words, taking on the role of her partner as well as her care giver. And that, in and of itself, is a form of emotional abuse."

"But surely he had to have something." Morgan argued. "Given his intelligence he must have had school as a refuge. No…" He remembered what Reid had told him, about being tied to the goalpost. "He was bullied pretty badly in high school. He told me about this one incident."

"One?" Dr. Messer asked. She reached over and picked up the biggest file yet. "High school is where things really start to cook. I stopped counting at 46, before I reached winter break of his freshman year, when he was ten." She sighed, "From then until he left for college at thirteen his life was one incident of bullying or torture after another. But if he didn't show up at school every day then they would make a report and CPS would come out to investigate."

"Setting his mother off into paranoid delusions, and probably violent ones," Morgan nodded. "I see what you mean about being virtually trapped, he was screwed either way. But surely college was a relief."

"A boy, physically thirteen, emotionally eleven or twelve, living in a college dorm?" Dr, Messer set aside his high school record and picked up his college file, which was nearly as thick. "CalTech is a school known for its pranks and hazing behavior between students. Now they do have an honor code, anyone who asks to be left alone must be left alone. But the victim has to _ask_, clearly and specifically, to be left alone."

"And anyone who went through all that in high school," Morgan said, pointing to the other file, "would know better than to ask. Speaking up would just make you more of a target."

"Exactly, and it is one of the very few in this country that will even enroll a student that young. At the same time he had to travel home every week-end to care for his mother, to try to see that she was all right at a distance, carrying that responsibility as well as being wholly responsible for his own needs, at thirteen. He would have flunked out I don't know how many times if it weren't for his mental abilities, simply due to repeat absences. Now, things eased up once he reached graduate school, but by then the damage was done. He was isolated within himself for his own protection, and conditioned to be a victim." She picked up another file, "Until he came under the wing of Jason Gideon. He probably would have been at the point he's at now a lot sooner had Jason not been there for him."

"What do you mean?" Morgan asked. He knew Gideon and Reid were close, but this was the first time he'd had a chance to really understand that.

"The first two essential steps in recovering from Complex PTSD are to establish safe space and a safe support system. Even just one person you can turn to for support is critical to even begin recovery. When he was eighteen he had to commit his mother into Bennington, which was the next traumatic loss, the amount of guilt he carries around from that is enormous, but from eighteen to twenty-one he was able to lead a quiet life. He had the security of the academic world, and he slowly developed a student/mentor relationship with Jason that he could rely on." She picked up the next file. "And then he joined the BAU."

"Oh man." Morgan muttered. Given the work they did this could not be good.

The rest of the pile on her desk was case files, one after the other. "The first two years he worked a desk, for all intents he was Jason's research assistant, which gave him a chance to at least begin healing. Granted his living situation has never been the best. You know where he lives, don't you?" She asked them.

"Come to think of it, no." Morgan replied. "I don't think any of us have ever been to his place."

She gave him an address on the edge of Chinatown that had him shocked. "Why?" Morgan asked. "He's got to be at least a GS14, which means he's making a lot better than that."

"It's costing him four thousand a month to keep his mother in Bennington, on top of her Social Security and Disability. And since he is terrified of developing the same condition he's prudently, in his mind, putting away the same amount toward his own committal there. What kind of an apartment could you afford on one third of your current salary? And then as I understand it you all pay for your own meals and expenses on these trips out of town, and get reimbursed by the Bureau?"

"Which can take a month," Morgan shook his head. "Damn, I didn't know." Had he really known anything about his friend?

Dr. Messer sighed. "Even with that, it wouldn't matter where he was living, so long as he felt safe and had someone he could rely on. But healing from C-PTSD takes years, a safe estimate is two to three months for every year of captivity, and that's working at healing full time, not also trying to work and achieve another degree. And Jason was trying to help him by himself, to shield him from any Bureau involvement."

"Which means it would take longer. And he would be vulnerable to…re-injury, I guess, if anything happened to Gideon." Morgan sighed; he could see where this was going.

"Then in his third year with the Bureau we reach the Christian Bale case, where Gideon suddenly disappeared from his life for six months. Since no one knew if Gideon was coming back or not that read as a traumatic loss." Next file, "Randall Garner. Not only did an Unsub invade the home of one of your teammates and attack her there, but he also used the connection Spencer had with his mother to come after all of you. In one incident he lost both his sense of safety at home and his only other social outlet, his mother. He used to be able to tell her everything, after that he no longer dared. All he had left was Jason." She picked up the next file, "The next traumatic loss, Elle Greenway. He feels responsible for her leaving; he believes he should have done something to help her."

"I told him not to do that." Morgan said. Elle left of her own decision, which was in no way Reid's fault.

"He spent his entire life as a caregiver. One piece of advice is not enough against all that history. He feels like he failed her." Next file, "Tobias Hankel. I believe this was the first time the C-PTSD truly manifested."

"The drug problem?"

"The drug problem, one of the ways C-PTSD can manifest is in self-harming behavior. It's a way of trying to get control when you feel powerless and have no control of anything, even your own body, to protect yourself by numbing your emotions. This can manifest as cutting or abusing yourself, or as alcohol or narcotics abuse. For two days he had no control at all, and that brought back all the memories of all the years when he was a child. That couldn't just be switched off when you rescued him."

"Yeah, but he's been clean for a few years now, so far as I know."

Dr. Messer nodded. "He's been clean. He detoxed at a friend's apartment in New Orleans, he was afraid that if he sought medical care the Bureau would find out and start an investigation. Unfortunately, soon after, that friend moved away and they lost contact." Dr. Messer held up another file. "And now we come to Frank, last name unknown."

"Who broke into Gideon's apartment and killed his girlfriend in his bed." Morgan nodded, "Another violation of safe space. And then Gideon left him, another loss. But not of his entire support system, he has us."

"You're right, on one level he does. He did trust you enough to tell you about one of the incidents in high school. For someone with this problem, that's huge." Dr. Messer kept moving case files.

"On one level?" Morgan asked, almost offended. He was there for the kid, full stop. How dare she say he wasn't?

"I'm getting there." She held up one file, slimmer than the others. "I don't know what happened, but he ended up in the hospital. That's a violation of personal safety without the right kind of support.

"We can't say." Morgan said, "National security. But we were there for him," he added.

"I know. The trust he has in this team, and the support it offers, is the only thing that's kept him going this long." She kept going through the files. "Not long after that he was shot…"

"Another violation, Jesus," Morgan shook his head. "It really is one thing after another isn't it."

"A tendency toward re-victimization is a hallmark of C-PTSD." Dr. Messer informed him. "Sufferers have simply never learned to protect themselves because they've never been _able_ to protect themselves, or trust others to protect them."

"Is that why he wandered off in Miami?" He asked.

She nodded. "Yes, I believe so."

"But he has us." Now Morgan was getting upset. "He can rely on his team, he knows that."

"Can he?" She countered. "Let me finish. On the same day that he was shot Agent Hotchner was attacked in his own home. His family went into Witness Protection. Spencer got to watch as a man whom he respects for his strength and character had his life ripped apart, first by The Reaper and then by the Bureau. This very institution has become the next perpetrator. It's a self-protection sense; someone with C-PTSD can smell a bully a mile off, even if they aren't the target."

And Morgan knew exactly who the bully was this time around. "Chief Strauss." He muttered.

"But I think this current breakdown was triggered by your last case in LA. Billie Flynn, the Prince of Darkness." She held up the file. "You were missing for most of the night, weren't you Agent Morgan?"

"Yeah, but…"

"And he had the trauma of losing his best friend, another man he respects for his strength and character. You barely made it back this time, how can he trust that you won't be gone forever next time? Most people in his life do that to him eventually. And then a week later…" She held up the last file. "…Agent Jareau. How can he trust that this team is there for him if they can be taken from him at the stroke of a pen?"

"Jesus," Morgan sat back and shook his head. Looking at JJ leaving from Reid's point of view, it was like having someone disappear on him, like his dad, like Gideon, like Elle, like he almost did. Even like his mom into her own madness. And how could he place his trust in them if they could just disappear tomorrow? "So The Reaper takes his sense of safety of place, the Bureau take his sense of safety at work, and then The Prince of Darkness and Chief Strauss take away his ability to trust that the team will really be there for him," he summed up. "And we're back at square one."

"Actually we're a little worse than that." Dr. Messer said. "The name of the game when you're in captivity, real or virtual, is survival until escape. You survive junior high, hoping that high school will be better. You endure high school hoping that college will be an improvement. You get through college hoping that the autonomy of being out on your own will allow you to finally be free. And then you reach your mid-twenties and you're in your career making job and it's starting all over again only this time there's no more life transition on the horizon to represent a chance for escape. Retirement is forty years away. By then most sufferers are out of internal resources. I think this time his well has simply run dry." She sighed. "He is showing all the classic signs of a full blown case of C-PTSD: Persistent sadness, alternating between inhibited and explosive anger, inhibited sexuality, hypermnesia , dissociation, deep feelings of guilt and shame, a sense of being different from others…"

"He is." Morgan pointed out.

"No, he's not." She countered. "He's a human being, just like all the rest of us, with the same needs, wants and fears." She continued down the symptom list: "Attribution of total power to the perpetrator, currently the Bureau, a sense of hopelessness and despair, and finally a sense of complete isolation. He's got all the symptoms, right down the line."

Damn, Morgan thought. And I never even thought to look for something like this. "All right, we know what the problem is. Is this treatable?"

Dr. Messer nodded. "Yes, to an extent. The metaphor of an injury is well chosen here. This is not an inherent, organic problem like schizophrenia; it almost literally is an old injury that has never been allowed to heal properly and so keeps tearing open. With care and treatment most victims go on to lead rich, full lives. Now, granted, like many injuries there is an ongoing point of vulnerability, scar tissue if you will, that's never as strong as the rest of the system. But with awareness and care you can learn to protect those parts of yourself and lead a normal life."

"And if he doesn't get help?" At this point Morgan wasn't sure he wanted to know.

She sighed. "A downward spiral like this starts slowly. Usually it begins with the victim internally isolating himself to protect his emotions from further loss. It manifests with them thinking the worst of people they want to be able to trust, to turn to. They stop making eye contact, sit further away, don't engage socially, and give the shortest answer possible. Then, as they repress more of their emotions, they start showing psychosomatic symptoms…."

"The headaches, the stomachaches, that sort of thing."

She nodded. "Insomnia triggered by persistent nightmares and fear of the dark and the nighttime, when we're more vulnerable and abuse is more common increases the sense of being ill. When no one can help them they start believing that no one _will_ help them, that causes even more loss of trust, and so they isolate themselves even further. This causes the depression to worsen, and then they start sliding down much more quickly. Eventually you have a major depressive break which requires hospitalization."

"A nervous breakdown?" Morgan asked. "Is that where this is going?"

She nodded again. "And that's the best option. While he's not showing any signs of suicidal ideation yet, the chances are high that he will. But it's more likely that he'll return to self-harming behavior as a comforting escape."

"You mean drugs?" Morgan clarified.

"I mean my professional opinion is that barring some major intervention you'll find him dead of an overdose within the year." She stated, finally.

Morgan sat there a moment, shocked. For a moment he could picture his little brother in some empty lot somewhere, like the ones from his old neighborhood. He could picture himself looking down at Reid's body, with a needle in his arm and a relieved smile on his face, finally having found freedom from his demons. And for the faintest moment he could almost be happy for him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Office of Dr. Judith Messer**

**Quantico, VA**

**Morgan**

"No."

"No." Morgan told her. "Nu-uh, that is not going to happen. You tell me what we need to do to fix this, because I am not going to let that happen." He was not going to let that happen to his little brother. No way.

Dr. Messer sat back, took off her glasses, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I don't know."

Excuse me? Morgan thought. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"Look, before we can even begin to address any sort of healing he needs a sense of physical safety and a support network. And that means someone outside the Bureau, protected from its politics. He has no one outside your team. I tried to find something, some glimmer of anything that could be nurtured into a full-fledged relationship, but he has no one. Granted there is the NA group but that's not an appropriate, useful place to take this sort of problem. Otherwise he's nearly always here and when he goes home he literally buries his nose in his books. And that's classic isolating escapist behavior, right into the only safe place he's ever had, his own mind."

No one, he realized. Reid has no one. I have my mom, my sisters back in Chicago. Emily has her mother, had friends back in high school. Hotch has Jack, had Haley, has Jessica now. Rossi has old friends, family back home, has had assorted wives over the years. Garcia has Kevin, and the families she worked with. Reid has no one. "What about medication?"

"Of limited use in these situations, they can provide temporary relief once safety has been established. If it hasn't as soon as another incident happens he'll fall even faster with them in his system. And that's assuming you can get him to take them."

Damn, "So is there anything I…we…any of us can do?" Morgan asked. "I'm going to get the whole team on this if I have to, and to hell with the Bureau."

"The best thing you can do right now is try to slow the downward spiral. Don't let him isolate himself. And that means within himself as well. Force him to make eye contact until he really hears what you're saying to him, sit next to him, deliberately engage him, try to comfort him when the psychosomatic symptoms hit. Whatever you can do to keep him out of his head and engaged with the world around him." She shrugged. "It's a question of hanging on and not letting go until we can get him to a safe place. Assuming we can find one. But it's entirely possible that you can slow it enough to give us time to figure something out. "

"And how do we go about establishing safety for him?" He has no one, Morgan thought. I never realized that at all.

Dr. Messer shook her head. "Pray for a miracle."

* * *

As soon as he stepped into the BAU Morgan's phone went off. He frowned down at the strange number with the Miami area code, and then answered it, "Morgan"

"Your friend is in trouble." Julio. "You need to find him."

Friend, it had to be Reid. "Where?" He was already moving to Garcia's lair

"I do not know. He has stepped behind the Shadow; the saints cannot see him there." Julio sounded distant, distressed. "Find him. And when he is safe call me at this number."

"Yeah," Julio hung up first. A moment later, Morgan was heading into Garcia's room. "Baby girl I need to find Reid. Tell me you were able to do that thing with his phone."

"Oh yeah," she replied and turned to her keyboard.

Morgan smiled. When they came back from Miami he'd asked Garcia to please find a way of putting a somewhat permanent tag on Reid, the easier to find him if he ever decided to wander off again. She'd found a way to cross wire the GPS chip on his phone to the battery, so that even if the phone was off the locator was always on, and then set a program to record. It was the best they could do without bolting it to his wrist or slipping it under his skin. And that is my next option, Morgan thought.

"He is…" Garcia looked at the map that came up, the red dot there, "...at home. Has been for the past half hour; what's going on?"

Morgan opened his phone and tried it. Unsurprisingly it went straight to voice mail. He didn't bother to leave a message, the number would be enough. "Julio called, said he was in trouble."

"Julio. You mean the crazy witch doctor guy from Miami." Now Garcia looked as worried as he felt.

"Yeah, I'm going to head over there and check on him. You stay here until I call you." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Don't worry, I got this."

"You'd better," as Morgan left he caught the faint smell of burning sage behind him

**Spencer Reid's apartment**

**Washington DC**

Morgan had a hard time believing that Spencer actually lived here. He parked at the corner, took one look at the kids hanging there, and flashed his badge. "Don't" he said, pointing at the car. They took one look at the badge, one at him, and they didn't. Thank God some things are universal, he thought.

He entered the propped open door next to the Indian take-out shack and climbed the four grimly flights of stairs to the apartment listed to one S. Reid. How the hell did he get up here on crutches, he thought, ass backwards, hauling himself up the banister step by step? Damn it, if I'd have known… He got to the door in question and knocked. "Reid." No answer. Knocked again, "Reid." No answer. Knocked harder "Reid!"

"What?" came a familiar voice behind him.

Morgan turned and found Spencer, sunglasses on even at this hour, slowly coming up the stairs. He looks exhausted, Morgan thought. It's an injury, he's walking wounded, of course he's tired. "Garcia said you didn't look right when you left." He lied glibly. "Then you didn't answer your phone, so I figured I'd come by and check."

"I'm all right." Spencer stepped past him and opened the door. "Thank you though."

Even though he was uninvited Morgan crowded up with him to be sure to get inside. The apartment was clean enough, just tiny and utterly bland. What was just large enough to be called a kitchen was clearly used primarily to make coffee and heat take-out. The single room beyond it held an unmade bed, a tidy but well used desk, a dresser with a small TV on top, and lots and lots of books… tons of books. They crowded the bookshelves made of the traditional cinder blocks and cheap pine boards, and were stacked in front of them on the floor as well. "You remember every book you ever read." Morgan pointed out, looking around the room. "Why?"

"I like reading." He replied. "Anyway, I'm fine. Thank you."

"No you're not. Dr. Messer says you've been having migraines."

"Migraines?"

"That's what her official report says."

"All right, I'll set up a doctor's appointment on Monday. Otherwise, really, I'm okay." Spencer moved to get past him, to show him to the door.

As soon as Spencer was close enough Morgan moved. He simultaneously pulled off the younger man's sunglasses and flicked on the overhead light. Morgan had one moment to note the swollen, bloodshot state of Spencer's eyes before he made a sharp, moaning sound, covered them and landed on the bed in agony. He's been crying, Morgan thought, or fighting it more likely. "You want to try that again?"

"I'm fine. Really. Go on." Spencer rolled on the bed and waved him toward the door.

"All right, I'll go. But you're coming with me." Morgan spotted Spencer's half empty go bag, started opening drawers and filling it with likely clothing.

"What? No." Spencer rolled sideways and started squinting in his direction. "There's nothing you can do. Just..."

"Hey." Bag packed Morgan turned and hauled Spencer to his feet. "Look at me. Look. Come on." He refused to give it up until Spencer was meeting his eyes. "You are my little brother and you are sick. Now you are going to sleep on my couch until this gets better."

Spencer's eyes were cold, distant, haunted. Dissociation, Morgan thought, he's keeping himself away from me. "You can't do anything to help me." The younger man insisted, in a hollow, tired voice.

"Yeah, I can."

"No, Morgan, you can't."

"I can try. Now I am not letting you do this on your own, hear me?" As Morgan watched there was a flicker in there, something longing and hopeful. That's it kid, he thought, grab the rope I'm throwing you. "We are going to sort this out. I am not letting you go."

Spencer sighed and nodded. "Thank you."

"Good. Do you need anything else?" When Spencer shook his head he gently shoved him before him. "Good. Get downstairs. And do not puke in my car."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Derek Morgan's Apartment**

**Washington DC**

Morgan had a modest place, half of a duplex he owned. It was clean, kind of dark, streamlined in the way of bachelor pads and men who let their current girlfriend decorate at the mall. He had one of those counter height tables just off the small, functional kitchen, and that was where he planted Spencer after the younger man had quietly accepted an enthusiastic greeting from Clooney. While Spencer slouched there Morgan went to the kitchen to find some kind of food to heat. As he went past the switch he dimmed the light over the table. "You know, my Momma always said that sunglasses in the house were rude."

Spencer took the hint and pulled off the shades, rubbed his eyes and the bridge of his nose, then went rummaging in his pack. Morgan watched as he took out stuff for contact lenses. "So Dr. Messer said migraines?" he asked as he set about removing the torture devices from his eyeballs.

"Yeah." Other than Morgan calling Garcia before they pulled out and telling her that he had Reid, that he was safe so go home, they hadn't discussed anything on the ride over. Spencer was clearly trying to hold in his gorge and Morgan was not about to distract him from the effort. He pulled out some leftover take-out and put it in the microwave to heat. "That's her official finding. Don't be surprised if Hotch tells you to make a doctor's appointment come Monday."

"I wonder what Strauss will say about that." Spencer said, in the distracted, remote voice of someone fiddling with drops and lenses.

"Don't worry about Strauss. It was a righteous shoot; she's just making her presence known." When the food beeped Morgan started making up two plates, and brought them to the table.

"It's not like we don't know she's watching our every move." Spencer blinked a few times to spread out the drops, and then started putting everything away. "Wait, you said official report. That presumes an unofficial report?"

"Yes, it does." Morgan went back to the kitchen for a soda and a beer. He came back and settled opposite his friend, who was just settling his glasses into place. He looked over at the way his friend was curling, hunched over, protecting himself from something. "But you don't need to worry about that now."

There was a long moment's silence while they started eating. Or Morgan started eating and Spencer poked at his plate. Then, finally, "Am I turning into my Mom?"

"No." Morgan stopped with the beer halfway to his mouth. "And you know that as well as we all do. You aren't showing any of the signs of paranoid schizophrenia. Now stop going there."

"Well, what is it then?"

"Nothing that serious, just, trust me for once, all right?"

They ate, or pretended to eat, for a few moments more. "You know, I didn't see Garcia when I was leaving." Spencer said.

"Yeah, I know." Morgan debated telling him, but something told him he ought to go there. "Julio gave me a call, the guy from Miami? He said you were in trouble. "He watched as Spencer curled into himself a little further. "I figured I'd play it safe."

"Thank you." Spencer said, mostly down to his plate. "He called me as well, before we went to Montana."

"Oh yeah?" Just what they needed, right? "What did he say?"

A moment later, Morgan realized his mistake. "I could hear you screaming all the way down here. Did you pray like I told you to? No. You went to the doctor. I could have told you you're not sick. No, you are not crazy. The saints told you, you have bad egun on your head. You must find out what they are doing to you. No, you are not sick. The doctor told you you're not sick. The charm I gave you is from Ornula, he will keep you from getting sick, for a time. The feeling of sickness is the tool the egun are using to keep you from something important. I don't know. I don't know you. You and your friends are smart, you'll figure it out. Now listen to me." Spencer recited something back in another language. "A prayer to Ornula to help you sleep without dreams. Tonight you will sleep. But you must find out what you must do, and soon. And in the meantime you must do two things to survive. Trust your friends. They care for you far more than you believe. Any thoughts otherwise are the egun trying to isolate you. Don't let them, and pray."

Mental note, Morgan thought, next time ask him to paraphrase. He sipped his beer and mentally picked over this information. "Hear you screaming?"

"I wasn't feeling well. I assumed poetic license."

"How did he know you went to the doctor?"

"I don't know." Spencer looked up from his plate. "How do you know I went to the doctor?"

"Garcia." Morgan sipped his beer and considered. A lot of that lined up with what Dr. Messer said. "You up to working?"

"Yeah."

Morgan pulled out his phone and hit redial.

"What are you doing?" Spencer asked.

"Calling him back," Morgan replied. He set his phone to speaker and put it in the middle of the table.

"The saints can see him now." Julio said, with a relieved note in his voice, by way of greeting. "Thank you."

"Yeah, now, you want to tell me what the hell's going on?" Morgan asked him.

"As I told your friend, he has bad egun on his head. When he went behind the Shadow the saints told me to call you."

Spencer leaned in a bit closer. "I'm not an expert in Palo Mayombe, but from what I know you don't appear to strictly follow the theology of that faith. What are "egun" and "saints" in this context?"

"The Christians believe that their God is omnipotent and omniscient, that God can see and do all. We do not believe this is the case. For if man must have free will, then even the gods cannot see what he is to choose before he does so."

Spencer blinked as he considered this. "That's actually a fairly sophisticated question. The…" Morgan gave him the sign to cut it there, before they went off on a tangent.

"We believe the knowledge gained by Adam and Eve was that they could hide from the gods, that when they chose to lie and conceal themselves the Shadow came into the world, a Shadow beyond which the gods cannot see. This is what the serpent desired, for evil wishes to create chaos and destroy the balance in the world, while the gods strive to create balance. If the gods cannot see the unbalance, they cannot correct it. This is why the Christians call their god the Good Shepherd, for a good Shepherd always goes to look for the sheep he cannot see."

"That's an interesting interpretation of that metaphor." Spencer said.

"Now because the gods cannot see everywhere they must have help, from man. When those who dedicate their lives to restoring the balance die they become saints, spirits who continue this work. But there are also the egun, the ghosts of those who create evil and chaos in this world, and disrupt the balance." Julio paused for a moment. "That is why God did not hear you, Agent Morgan. There was one close to you who brought the Shadow with him, so the gods could not see or hear. They could not hear you until you reached Northwestern."

Morgan froze. He hadn't told anyone about that except Father Marks, and he knew he wouldn't have told anyone. "Uh, yeah, so assuming all this is true, why are they after Reid?"

"It is not just your friend; they are after all of you." Julio said. "There was one of you, not long ago, whom Death pulled behind the Shadow. The gods did not know you were lost until he cried for his wife. Even then, it has taken this long for the saints to find you."

"Wait," Spencer said. "You said they didn't hear him until he cried for his wife?" That was after Haley died, but Hotch had suffered for months before while his family was away. "When you say "death" what do you mean?"

"The saints showed me Death, the robe, the scythe, the bony hand… death."

Spencer looked up at Morgan, who nodded, "Okay, same question," Morgan asked, "why Reid?"

"He is the youngest. He is the first one the saints wish to help."

"Because he's the most vulnerable?"

"Yes and no. He is also young and one of the strongest among you. Did that woman today not tell you he is strong?"

Morgan ignored Spencer's curious look. "If he's so strong then why send him the help?"

"Because they want him strong enough to fight for a long time."

"All right, so what are they sending?"

"I don't know." Julio admitted. "If they tell me then the egun might overhear. But the egun know they are trying, and so they are trying to distract him so he cannot find the help they offer. Have you not been distracted from your work of late? Is this sickness not distracting him from what he would usually do?"

"So what does he need to start doing?"

"I don't know. I don't know him, and if they tell me and the egun overhear it makes it harder for the saints to work. My suggestion, as a student not a priest, is that you take him to church."

"Wait," Spencer spoke up. "I'm not a believer; I don't pray or go to church."

"Which church?" Morgan asked.

"Any church… your church," Julio answered, ignoring Spencer's protestations. "Take him to a Temple, if you prefer. Take him to a Mosque or a Synagogue. Take him to holy ground. There the egun cannot follow him."

"You think that's where we're going to find God?" That's too easy, Morgan thought.

"No. The gods have no need for a house. A house of God is a place of refuge for those who do the work of the gods on earth. It is a place for those people who choose to help bring the balance to come and strengthen each other. It is because of this the egun cannot go there. Your friend is very intelligent, perhaps if you can get the egun off his head, or if you prefer off his ass, for a time he can think of what he has been avoiding. At least it's a better idea than what that woman gave you." There were sounds in the background. "I have to go."

"Wait," Morgan called to him. "Why are you helping us?"

"I am a priest, dedicated to the work of the gods. You also help the gods, by fighting evil. It is better if we work together." He paused and said something to someone in the room in another language. "If I learn anything more from the saints I will call you." With that he hung up.

Spencer slumped and went back to poking at his supper while Morgan picked up his beer. "So, do you believe all this?"

"I don't know." Morgan said after a moment. "Like you said, if you believe in one you have to believe in the other. " He shook his head. "I don't know, I keep thinking of Floyd Feylinn, and how he caught every lucky break, or Father Paul Silvano and how he had diplomatic immunity or, well, Billie Flynn. " He hated to remind Reid of that, but. "How lucky was it for him that not only was there a power blackout that night but the cell system went down too?"

"The Unsubs do seem to catch every break." Spencer agreed. "How did he know that Hotch was targeted by The Reaper, or about your meeting with Dr. Messer?"

"That's part of what's making this so creepy."

"Why is going to church a better idea than the one Dr, Messer had?"

Morgan sighed, "Because she was still working on one when I left." He shook his head when he saw Spencer sag a little more. "Now stop that, we are not giving up."

"I should probably just leave the Bureau now before this gets any worse. Before I screw up so bad that someone gets hurt."

"I said stop that. Now look at me. Look." He didn't continue until Spencer made eye contact. "This is not going to get any worse. She said it wasn't organic, you're not sick, and we are going to find a way to fix this. In the meantime it hasn't been impacting your ability to do your job. You're still a valuable member of this team."

"Even with what happened in Miami?"

Morgan shook his head, "Even with that. We handled you being on crutches, we can handle this." Spencer slumped back down, went back to picking at his food. "Now in the meantime you're going to church tomorrow with me at 11."

"Why?"

"Why not? It can't hurt." Morgan took the final sip of his beer. "Look, Rossi was right when he said it was our job to stop evil, not to understand it. So I'm not going to sit here and decide who was right, the shrink or the priest. We're going to cover all our bases, just in case."

"All right." Spencer sagged a little more. "Mind if I take a shower."

"Sure. You know where it is. I'll go get the sheets for the couch."

Morgan stood up, gathered the plates, and took them to the kitchen. Spencer stood up as well, but he just stood there a moment. "Julio was right, I was in trouble." He reached into his pocket, put a small bottle on the table, then turned and headed for the living room where they'd left his go bag.

Morgan froze. Fear coiled in his gut, icy and tight. He slowly scraped and stacked the plates, then walked over and picked up the small bottle, begging whatever was out there that he would not see Dilaudid on the label, although he already knew it was what it had to be. This wouldn't have killed him, he thought, not tonight. But it would have sent that downward spiral going so fast that he might not have been able to stop.

He cradled the little bottle and turned to look at his friend through the doorway. Shame, that's what he had been seeing in his body language all night. I can't get angry with him, Morgan thought, that won't help. And while it's the worst treatment possible, it may be the only thing that holds him until we can find something better. "Hey." He waited until Spencer turned and looked at him, the longing for help clear in his eyes. "You need this, you come ask me. No one else. Me. Understand?" He waited until Spencer nodded before he stuck the bottle in his pocket and went to get the sheets.

* * *

Later he stood on his small back patio and watched Spencer sleep through a crack in the curtains. "So that's where we're at so far." He said into his phone. He was lying, of course. He hadn't told Garcia about the small bottle in his pocket. He'd told her he caught Reid heading out of the building, and suspected, maybe, but not that it had gotten that far.

"So what are you going to do? Are you going to do what creepy guy told you?"

"Yep, I'm taking him to church with me tomorrow." Morgan sighed. "I figure it can't hurt him, and at least it's something I can do, instead of just standing here waiting for him to fall apart."

"You know, I think I know why they'd want to help the youngest." Garcia said.

"Why is that, baby girl?"

"Well, think about it. Really, honestly, you may be Superman now, but how much longer do you plan to kick in doors?"

"As long as I can."

"And how long do you think that will be? I mean, that kind of thing is hard on the joints, isn't it?"

Morgan considered that a moment. He knew he was a good profiler, he knew he could bring that to the team. But a lot of his strength was physical and while at 37 he was at the top of his game, eventually age and use would tell. "I don't know, maybe 20 years, maybe a little more. Why?"

"What Reid does is all in his head, which lasts longer. And he's what. 28, 29? And he already has like nine or ten years experience. He could stay at the BAU another 40 years, easy. With his brains and 50 years experience, the Unsubs wouldn't stand a chance."

"Yeah, if we can get him to last that long."

"And another thing, maybe what the doctor and the creepy guy are saying is really the same thing."

Morgan frowned at that. Where did she get that connection? "What do you mean?"

"Well, Palo Mayombe is one of those Afro-Caribbean religions that came about when slaves from Africa mixed their traditional religions with Christianity. Well, they were slaves, right? Captives? And C-PTSD is something that happens to people who are trapped, held captive. And the priests were also the community healers, right?"

Morgan saw where she was going. "And maybe they recognized the symptoms of C-PTSD only they described it in spiritual terms, not psychological ones."

"Yeah, and so, maybe as part of their oral tradition they passed down both a description of the problem and a holistic treatment, including a way to talk about it that the sick person could hear. Maybe that's what he saw in Reid."

"Maybe," Morgan agreed. It was a distinct possibility that that could have been what attracted Julio to Reid to begin with. "And Dr. Messer said he had to make connections outside of the Bureau, in the community. A church group is a good place to find that."

"So, you know, maybe taking him to church with you is the right idea." Garcia said. "Oh, but leave your phones on vibrate, you're on call tomorrow."

"What?" Morgan groaned. "We weren't supposed to be back until Monday."

"Strauss said we're shorthanded." Garcia sighed. "You know, I can totally see her as an agent of Satan. Keep me posted?"

"You know I will baby girl. Now go to sleep, everyone is safe tonight."

After Garcia hung up Morgan stood there a moment, looking at the sleeping form of his friend, huddled on the couch. I don't know, little brother, he thought, I just don't know. But I know you're safe tonight, no one is going to hurt you. I got you. One day at a time, isn't that it? Now we'll see what happens tomorrow.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**Derek Morgan's Apartment**

**Washington DC**

**Morgan**

The next morning Morgan let Spencer sleep in as long as possible. He looked like he needed it and he admittedly felt a little pleased that, on some level, his little brother knew he was safe enough to sleep the night and not wake from nightmares. But eventually he was going to have to wake him up so he could get breakfast and they could head to church. Problem was, twenty minutes before he planned to wake Spencer Clooney took care of that by licking one dangling hand until he woke. "Morning," Spencer mumbled in his general direction.

"Good morning." Morgan was over at the table, already dressed and drinking coffee over the paper. "I was going to let you sleep a little longer, but Clooney had other ideas."

"That's all right." He watched Spencer reach over to the end table and find his glasses. "What time is it?" he asked as he got out of bed.

"Ten after nine," Morgan replied. He watched his friend stumble off in the direction of the bathroom. Might as well get the worst of it over with; "Put your cell phone on vibrate and leave it on. We went on call ten minutes ago."

Spencer stopped at the bathroom door. "I thought we were off today."

"We all did." A few moments later Morgan looked up as Clooney whined at the sound of retching coming from the bathroom. I wonder if he's been starting every morning like that, he thought. Might want to make breakfast something simple and easy on the stomach. He went to the kitchen and started working on scrambled eggs and toast.

Ten minutes later Spencer came out, damp and freshly shaven, with his contacts in and his tie hanging loose around his neck. "Please tell me there's coffee."

"There's coffee." Morgan fished the sugar canister out of the cabinet and passed it over.

Spencer pulled a stool over, sat at the counter, and went to work on doctoring a mug. "I didn't, last night." He said in a quiet voice. "I was just coming home…"

"I know." Morgan said as he went to work on the eggs.

Spencer sat there and stirred his coffee. "You never told me what the unofficial diagnosis was."

"Does it matter?" The toaster popped, and Morgan pulled the toast out, passing it over along with the butter. "We're gonna take care of it."

"I think I have a right to know. It is my head."

Morgan sighed. "Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."

Spencer thought for a moment. "I've never heard of that. It's not in the _DSM_."

"She seemed pretty certain that it's going to be in the next one. If you want to look it up my laptop's in the other room."

"No, I don't want to look at computer flicker unless I have to."

"Computer flicker?" Morgan dished up the eggs and took them over to the table.

Spencer followed with the toast. "Humans can perceive lights flickering up to 25 Hz. Even though not perceptible, flicker at much higher frequencies _affects_ people by causing eyestrain. Many people find fluorescent lighting to cause eyestrain, although fluorescent lights flicker at 120 Hz in North America Continuous work behind a monitor running at 60 Hz, the average for most screens, is particularly stressful for someone with…well, someone sensitive to computer flicker."

Morgan considered that a moment. "You mean someone with Asperger's Syndrome?"

Spencer stopped for a moment. "How far back did she dig?"

"Be thankful Garcia isn't into blackmail." Morgan sat, and nudged Spencer until he sat too and started eating. "Is that why you're still all analog?"

"I try to avoid computers whenever possible." Spencer admitted. "These new headaches haven't been eyestrain, though. Using the term Post-traumatic implies an external causation, as opposed to something organic. That also implies that treatment is possible to the point of an actual cure rather than just minimizing symptoms."

"That's about what she said."

"But she had yet to come up with a treatment plan?"

"We're working on it." Morgan looked over at him. "So why did you run out of there so quickly?"

"Her line of questioning was making me uncomfortable. You know I can see the appeal of believing that mental illness is caused by an outside agency, or any illness for that matter."

"Outside agency? You mean Satan?"

"Well, some evil agent." Spencer looked down and wondered when he'd finished his eggs. "It's easier to want to fight when it's an outside agent."

Morgan smiled into his coffee. "Whatever gets you through the day."

**Northwestern Community Church**

**Washington DC**

If anyone in the congregation thought it was odd for Derek Morgan to come to church with what looked like an overgrown teen-ager in black and white high tops, a messenger bag, and heavy black shades slouching beside him they kept it to themselves. For that Morgan was deeply grateful. He found an empty pew about two thirds of the way down the aisle, and nudged Spencer to sit by the wall. Once in, he looked at him until he took the sunglasses off. Granted then Spencer kept looking around, clearly curious. Morgan looked up at the cross on the far wall and kept it simple, figuring emotions could fill in the bare spots. "Dear Lord," he thought. "We could use your help over here. My friend is sick and he needs to get better so we can keep doing Your work. Please. Amen."

"You know, the real evolution of the Christian service in the first century is shrouded in mystery." Spencer said. "By the second and third centuries, such Church Fathers as Clement of Alexandria, Origen, and Tertullian wrote of formalized, regular services: the practice of Morning and Evening Prayer, and prayers at the third, sixth, and ninth hours of the day, known in the Medieval period as terce, sext and none. With reference to the Jewish practices, it can't be a coincidence that these major hours of prayer correspond to the first and last hour of the conventional day, and that on Sundays the services are more complex and longer."

"Reid." Morgan had to stop him. "On the one hand I'm glad to hear you going off like that. How are you feeling?"

Spencer frowned as he thought about it a moment. "Um, fine, actually." His headache was gone, the knots in his stomach had untied and smoothed and the persistent aches in his ribs and back were gone. He felt…fine. "It must be the lighting in here, maybe the temperature."

It might be the lighting, Morgan thought, or the power of suggestion or maybe God has had His coffee this morning. It doesn't really matter which. "Good."

Spencer looked around a little more. "So what's the other half of the snowclone?"

Morgan looked over, confused, "Snow cone?"

"No, snowclone. A snowclone is a type of cliché and phrasal template originally defined as "a multi-use, customizable, instantly recognizable, time-worn, quoted or misquoted phrase or sentence that can be used in an entirely open array of different variants. "Have X, will travel". "The X from hell." "Got X." are all popular examples. The one you just used would be "on the one hand X, on the other hand Y." So, if being glad I'm feeling better is the X what's the Y?"

Morgan just looked at him throughout this. "It's church." He filled in for the Y. "Shush."

Spencer blinked at him a moment, then went back to looking around. As people started to settle he leaned over and thankfully lowered his voice. "Um, I've never actually been to a church service other than when Will and JJ christened Henry. What am I supposed to do?"

Morgan opened his mouth to explain, and then thought the better of it. "Just sit there." He said, "Quietly."

* * *

The service progressed as usual, with Spencer as an avid audience rather than any sort of participant. When it was over Morgan stayed put as people left. Spencer looked past him, watching people file out. "It was interesting, but for some reason I expected something more formalized." He commented, "Now what?"

"Now I'm going to go talk to the Pastor for a few minutes. You stay here." Morgan slid out of the pew and headed up to the pulpit. At one point he turned and found that Spencer had pulled a book out of his bag and was sitting there, contentedly reading.

Pastor Dean was a laid-back, very open kind of pastor, very much into the idea of building community, encouraging volunteer work, that sort of thing. That was why Morgan started coming here, a lot of the families who rented the housing he'd made available came here and they told him about it. It turned out to be a decent fit. He just wasn't sure how to explain the problem to the Pastor. "Pastor Dean, can we talk a minute?"

"Sure, what's up? Who's your friend?" Pastor Dean looked past him at Spencer and blinked. "Is he really reading that fast?"

Morgan didn't even bother to turn around. "Yeah, he does that all the time. We work together. Look, he's…he's got a lot of things going on with him right now, health wise, and he's not the praying sort. We could use a word in, to help sort some answers."

"Absolutely," the two men lowered their heads as Pastor Dean began to pray.

**Spencer**

Spencer wasn't paying them the slightest bit of attention. This was the most focused he'd felt for weeks, maybe months, and he wanted to finally finish this book. It had come up in one of his sociology classes last term, just in passing, but he'd realized then that he'd never actually read it. It was understandable how he'd missed it, most of his pre-collegiate reading had been from the Medieval period, thanks to his mother, then college had been all about the hard sciences, and then after he returned to the Medieval period and Renaissance for pleasure. This book was squarely 20th century. He finished it off, then sat there, considering. Interesting in theory, but he could see several flaws. No wonder it didn't work in practice, he thought. Then he looked down at the frontispiece of the book, and he could practically feel the light bulb going off over his head.

Morgan came back, and used one finger to lift the book, so that he could read the title. "_The Communist Manifesto?"_ Morgan asked, "In church?"

"I wanted to finish it." Spencer said, abstractly. "I think I just figured out what I've been avoiding."

"Communisim?"

"No, "he held up the book, "Georgetown Used and Rare Books. I bought this the last time I was there, right before I landed in the hospital with that, um, respiratory problem." Couldn't say Anthrax in public. "And the day after I got out of the hospital we went to Canada."

"And as soon as we got back you got shot." And The Reaper attacked Hotch, when all this started. "You haven't bought a book since then?"

"Not there. Their philosophy and psychology sections are in the basement, I couldn't navigate their stairs. And since then it's been one thing after another, I haven't gotten back there."

"How often did you go there before?"

"Every Sunday, when we were off Granted when our schedule shifted I was going to have to start running errands on Wednesdays."

Morgan considered this. Their schedule had shifted literally right before The Reaper and the shooting. Maybe God had His espresso this morning. "Well, it's a bookstore, can't hurt. Let's go there next."

Of course the moment they stepped outside the suddenly bright sunlight lanced its way into Spencer's eyes, rooted in the back of his head for the ball of pain that he hadn't felt while in church, and dragged it to the front. He made a small mewing noise and flinched away as he dug the sunglasses out of his bag. and of course, as soon as he got them on they both felt their phones start to vibrate.

"Okay, that is not right." Morgan looked down at the message that called them in for briefing. "We are going to go there as soon as we get back. This is not going to stop us"

Spencer sighed inwardly. His stomach was already turning at the thought of having to go in and encounter Strauss. And he'd been having such a good day, with the hope of maybe, possibly, finding some kind of an answer that would actually _help_. "Right." Outside agency, he thought, however illogical. Must keep fighting.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico VA**

When they first got to the office Morgan sent Spencer down to the conference room. He headed down the catwalk to stop Garcia before she left her lair. "Hey, baby girl. I need you to do something for me."

"Anything for you my Olympic god."

"I need you to check on the hotel rooms for me and Reid."

"Surely," she turned and started typing. "What do you need?"

He told her.

* * *

As they headed for the conference room Morgan took Hotch aside. "Do me a favor. When you start handing out assignments for when we land, keep Reid with me."

"Is there a problem?" Hotch asked.

"No, I got this. I told you. Just keep him with me for the next few. It'll be all right."

Hotch nodded. "All right, who else is in the loop?"

"Garcia. I'll brief Prentiss and Rossi the first chance I get"

"Good."

* * *

"Ladies and Gentlemen, cast your wizard like gazes at Frisco, Colorado." Garcia started the briefing. "Yesterday four members of the Summit High School football team went missing. This morning they were found dead on the field." She showed them pictures of four tortured young men, each body destroyed almost beyond recognition. And each with a pentagram carved into their chest.

Morgan and Spencer looked at each other, and then back down at the files.

"I'll take teenage satanic rebellion and drug use for 100 Alex." Rossi said to Hotch.

"Yes, well we need to be sure, and to find which kids." Hotch replied.

"And there are three more boys missing, this time from the basketball team." Garcia informed them

"Do we know how they died?" Morgan asked.

"Not yet, coroner's report's due in the next few hours. I will get it to you on the plane."

The briefing continued on for a few more minutes, and then they all got up to head to the plane. Of course that was the moment Chief Strauss chose to appear in the doorway. "Agent Hotchner, may I have a word with you for a moment?"

They stood there, just outside the door, talking quietly. Morgan looked over at Spencer, who was packing up very slowly. Now that he knew what to look for he could see that the younger man was afraid of calling attention to himself by pushing past the chief. He waited until Spencer was clearly ready, then clapped the younger man on the shoulder and steered him out the door, putting himself between Spencer and Strauss on the way. "Pardon us." She made an annoyed noise, but nothing more.

Sometimes it's the little things, Morgan thought.

**Gulfstream 500**

**Central US airspace**

An hour or so after the briefing Hotch's laptop came to life. "Coroner's report heading to your machines my lovelies," Garcia sang out. "Someone copy it onto the roll of parchment in the luggage rack for Reid." Even Spencer chuckled at that one.

Emily called it up first. "Okay, we need to profile for female Unsubs."

"Why?" Seaver asked from where she was sitting with Hotch at the far end of the plane, trying to learn the job on the job.

"Because all of their injuries were anti-mortem, but the only one that could have killed them was when their penises and testacies were removed and they bled out." Every man on the plane winced. Emily smiled at Seaver. "See. Men don't do that to each other. That takes a very pissed off woman."

"You have an evil streak." Morgan said to her, as he passed his tablet to Spencer to read.

"So what, a group of teen-aged girls getting revenge?' Rossi asked her.

"And using satanic imagery to cover their tracks," Emily nodded. "These are guys from sports teams, guys with a lot of physical power, used to bullying others to get their way."

"But guys from different teams don't usually party together." Rossi pointed out.

"Excuse me." Spencer said. He got up and headed for the small toilet at the opposite end of the plane.

Rossi watched him go. "That kid has logged more miles by toilet than I ever thought humanly possible." He said, lowering his voice so Seaver wouldn't hear and Hotch could claim ignorance. He saw the way Morgan and Emily were looking at each other. "Someone want to clue me in?"

Morgan and Prentiss looked at each other, and then Morgan started in, keeping it as quick and short as he could.

Rossi listened until Morgan got to the part about Tobias Hankel. "You know, there's nothing in that file that would indicate a problem."

"Gideon had us leave certain things out," Morgan confessed, "nothing that would influence the case."

"Like what?" Rossi asked.

Emily and Morgan looked at each other again. "Hankel escaped his demons by using a mixture of Dilaudid and LSD." Emily informed him. "When he thought Reid was being held by his father he…shared."

Rossi considered that and grunted. "A mixture like that could addict someone with one dose."

"Try eight," Emily said, "over about a day and a half."

Rossi grunted again, and shook his head. "I was wondering how he knew so much about 'step dancing'," he said. "There's stuff that just doesn't come out of books."

"We didn't know how you would take it." Morgan told him.

"A lot of good cops dance that dance." Rossi said, "Doesn't bother me so long as he keeps the beat. Just…every so often remind me that I can be an asshole."

Morgan nodded. "That's why we were 'babying' him when he got shot."

"Any?'

"Nope."

"Damn," Rossi shook his head. "All right, I'm an asshole, I assume there's more."

Morgan filled in the rest, all except for the presence of the little bottle in his pocket.

"You know, a lot of guys in this job have to fight ghosts like that, end up with those kinds of problems. They just don't usually get as early a start. I assume the goal here is to help him keep 'dancing' until the shrink figures out what to do." Rossi sat back. "What's your take on what that witch doctor had to say?"

"Creepy," Morgan replied. "He knew things he couldn't know. And some of the timing on this has just been that kind of strange." He shrugged. "Look, I can only work with what I have in front of me. The doctor couldn't come up with any concrete suggestions to get things started. Julio did."

"I assume you're doing this because Hotch has his hands full. And because if Erin found out any of this she'd get in here and start drawing blood."

"Exactly," Morgan said.

Just then Emily's phone went off. She looked at the caller ID and frowned.

"What is it?" Morgan asked.

"I don't know." She answered, distractedly. "Maybe I'm being picked on too." She got up and headed toward the galley to return that call.

"What was that all about?" Rossi asked. When Morgan shook his head he went on. "Do you have Reid covered? Is he able to do the work?"

"He's been fine in the field; it's being at the BAU that's causing the trouble." At Rossi's questioning look Morgan shrugged. "Strauss."

"What can she do?'

"JJ"

"Ah," Rossi nodded.

"Anyway, I got it covered with him, but, if Emily is distracted, Hotch is going to need help covering Seaver and Strauss."

"Leave that to me. And keep me in the loop. Let me know if I can help."

"Will do."

**Ramada Inn**

**Frisco, CO**

**Spencer**

Different name, same chain, after a working dinner and a late night at the local police station, Spencer found himself looking around the utterly bland hotel room. He just had time to drop his bags when a knock sounded on the door to the next room. He opened it and found Morgan standing there. "Hey, leave it open. You okay?"

Leave it open, Spencer thought. I'm glad he's there, even if it's just because I have to rebuild that trust again. "Headaches, of course it could be altitude sickness, we're over 9,000 feet. Hydration is a major issue up here."

"Yeah, no kidding, anyway, I'm going to crash for a while. You should get some sleep."

"Yeah, I'll try." Reid watched as Morgan left his side of the door just ajar and did the same. Then he headed for the shower. He got it up to blistering hot, got in, and started scrubbing down. It wasn't until he got to that scar that the memory hit him like a freight train.

**Then**

**Chaparral High School**

**Las Vegas, NV**

"_So, what's this I hear about you having a boner for Alexa Lisbon?" _

_Spencer didn't turn around. He'd had to stay late to meet with Mr. Gibson, his physics tutor, and now he just wanted to get to the bus without trouble. But now the campus was quiet and empty, and from the number of footsteps behind him Trent Hartman had a couple of his friends with him, which never boded well._

"_Hey! You gonna answer me?" They kept coming. Spencer tried to figure out the most likely point to break and run, but it was hard to calculate vector trajectories when you were utterly terrified. "Hey! It's rude not to answer people!" If I can just get around the corner of the building, he thought. Once I'm out of sight then maybe._

_The problem was that there were two more waiting around the corner. They grabbed him, sending his books flying and picking him up literally off the ground. Trent walked up, pulling a knife from his pocket. A knife that appeared huge to a frightened young boy. "See, the problem is, that Alexa doesn't want to be bothered by little twerp like you panting around after her. Do you understand that?" Spencer nodded, more than willing to agree with whatever Trent said, just so they would let him go. "See, I don't think you do. So we're going to give you a little reminder." With that he reached down and Spencer felt the fabric right below his fly part under the knife._

_It was entirely possible that they hadn't meant to do him any actual harm, but just then Mr. Gibson came around the corner. "Hey! What are you boys doing?" He yelled, unwilling to actually confront the crowd of nearly fully grown young men._

_Trent jerked at the sound. Spencer felt a white hot pain as the knife cut. He screamed in elemental terror. Oh god not deep, he thought, please not deep, please not deep, please not deep. Then he was falling to the ground as the boys dropped him, rolling and clutching his crotch in agony as the blood seeped through his fingers._

_The school nurse awkwardly bandaged him up, which was an adventure in embarrassment in and of itself. Then they called his mother, and told her to take him to the emergency room for a check up and probable stitches. Spencer knew that wasn't going to happen. Mom drove him home, and triple locked the doors and windows behind them. He could tell by the way she rushed him out of the school that she was done in for the night. _

_Once everything was locked up tight she pulled him into a rough embrace. "Oh my boy" she cooed. "Why did they have to go after you? It's just not safe out there for people like us."_

"_I'm all right Mom." He said, taking a deep breath and schooling his features so she wouldn't see that it hurt to walk. "Really I am. It's just a scratch. Come on, you ought to take your pills now." He clung to her for a moment longer, though, just a moment. She loves me, he thought, and she's trying so hard. She really is. _

_Once his mother was out for the night he went to the bathroom and gingerly removed the bandage. It didn't look like the knife went all the way through, he realized as he carefully compared his own anatomy to his copy of Gray's, Trent did not actually manage to cut his balls off. Of course it would be a long few weeks before the swelling went down and he could find out for sure, but it looked like he ought to be able to still function down there… if he could ever get a girl. He carefully cleaned the wound, hissing against the pain, bandaged himself neatly, cleaned up the bath, and found the stash of Tylenol. He took that and an ice pack and went to bed, the better to lose himself in a book until __he could sleep._


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Ramada Inn**

**Frisco, CO**

**Morgan**

It just felt wrong, Morgan thought. The timing of all this, that those boys went missing literally less than an hour after he met Reid at the head of the stairs, that they got the call as they stepped out of the church, it was all too damned creepy. How many other coincidences have there been, he thought, and I just never noticed them

At a loss for what else to do, and unable to get to sleep, he stepped out on his balcony and looked up at the clouded moon. Dear Lord, he thought, I could use some help here. I…I… Morgan stopped. Something was different. Somehow what he'd felt that morning in church and what he was feeling now were two different things. It feels like no one is listening now, he thought. What was that about not being seen?

Well, okay, how do you get God's attention?

He decided to look in the most obvious place for answers and pulled open the drawer of the minuscule desk in the corner of the room. He found a note pad, a pen, a magazine describing all the nearby tourist attractions, and a portfolio describing the various attributes of the hotel, but not what he was looking for. He tried the drawer of the nightstand, then the dresser drawers, then the shelf in the closet. Still not finding it, he quartered the room and went over it as if he was looking for evidence, nothing.

Weird.

Okay, fine. He went to the connecting door and knocked on it before letting himself in to Spencer's room.

**Spencer**

When Morgan came in he was in his pajamas and glasses, his legs under the covers, sitting with his back against the headboard, the case file all around him, staring off into space. Once he'd shaken off the unwanted memories in the shower he'd decided that if being in his own head meant dealing with Trent again he'd rather be in the Unsub's. It was far more entertaining. So he'd unpacked his copy of the case file and gone back to work.

Of course it was never that easy.

**Then**

**San Sebastian Hospital**

**Washington DC metro area**

_Spencer opened his eyes slowly. The first thing he noticed was the sweet warmth in his veins trying to tug him back down toward blessed oblivion. He'd noticed that the last three times he tried to open his eyes as well, only this time he was being more successful. He managed to roll his head this time, and noticed the IV and machine for delivering pain meds stuck in his arm. Damn it, he thought, I said no narcotics. Son of a…_

_The second thing he noticed was a blurry blond shape just past the machine. It came closer and finally focused into JJ. "Hey Spence," she said, ever so gently. "How do you feel?"_

_That was a good question, Spencer thought. At the moment his leg was a solid block of wood, utterly immobile, pinning him to the bed. And immobility was not a situation he enjoyed, ever. And he was drugged to the gills, a sensation he both craved and loathed. But JJ was here, so it couldn't be all that awful. She wouldn't let anything bad happen to him, ever. "Better than I wanted to feel. How's Hotch?"_

"_He's all right. He's downstairs, they think he's going to be fine." JJ smiled and something vast and warm rolled over him. "They think you're going to be fine too, but you have a couple of screws in there. It's going to be crutches for a while."_

"_That's all right." Spencer managed to look down at his well splinted leg. "Kicking in doors is Morgan's job." My first job is getting out of this bed and over to the bathroom._

_As if on cue a nurse came in the room. "Morning Dr. Reid." He said, looking at the chart. "I'm Pete, your nurse for the rest of the day. Could you excuse us for a few, we need to get him up and moving." He said to JJ, with a significant look at the bathroom door._

"_Sure," she said. She looked over at Spencer. "If you need anything they'll make sure you have the phone. We're just two floors down."_

_Don't go JJ, Spencer silently pleaded. I'm sure Pete here is very competent, but this is going to feel a lot like high school and I'm already terrified, which is not going to mix well with the drugs. Please stay within earshot just in case, please. Please don't leave, JJ. Please don't leave. But he couldn't show fear in front of Pete, so he just nodded and then she was gone._

**Now**

**Ramada Inn**

**Frisco, CO**

"Hey, Reid."

Spencer looked over to where Morgan was sticking his head in the door. He blinked and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will away the too real memory. Pete had been nothing but professional and respectful, as had the entire nursing staff, but it had still been utterly terrifying. Nothing had felt better than getting back to the safety of his own apartment. At least until that night, when he had his first nightmare about Foyet and he'd realized even that wasn't safe anymore. "Yeah?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

Morgan shook his head. "Want to try again?"

Spencer rubbed his eyes. "Sometimes having an eidetic memory isn't a good thing. You know, these Unsubs keep profiling as both male and female."

"Those are called flashbacks." Morgan said conversationally as he came in and started poking through the drawers. "We're supposed to be off for the night."

"I'm fine." Spencer responded automatically, not wanting to consider the implications of that. He frowned over at Morgan. "If you're looking for…"

"I'm not. I know." Morgan replied. He finished going through every drawer and the closet shelf, then stood in the middle of the room, frowning. "Which room did Prentiss get?"

"The one across the hall," Spencer shoved the paperwork aside and moved to the foot of the bed, the better to watch Morgan head over to Emily's room and knock.

After a moment Emily answered Morgan's knock. She was in a tank top and some kind of soft pants, clearly her pajamas, and was talking into her phone. "Top of FormDevo sapere se lo abbiate veduto." As Morgan pushed past her and began rifling her drawers she crossed the hall to Spencer's room. "Controllerete con la vostra gente, prego? Attenderò." She looked at Spencer with what the hell written on her face and pointed at Morgan. Spencer could only shrug in reply. "Tutto il a destra, se si mette in contatto con lo denominate immediatamente a questo numero. Sì Sì Tutto il a destra Buon vicino." She hung up just as Morgan came back in. "What's going on?"

Morgan leaned against the wall and looked at them. "Either of you ever been in a hotel room without a bible?"

"Maybe they opted out of the program. You know, the Gideons only offer bibles to hotels, they're not required to take them." Spencer pointed out.

"A Ramada Inn?" Morgan replied.

"So what are you saying, we're in a hotel in the Twilight Zone?" Emily asked.

"No, I'm just saying it's weird, that all." Morgan replied. "But there's a lot of weird going on."

"Right," Emily gave him an exasperated sigh. "Look, you two ghouls can sort that part, I'm going to bed." With that she turned and headed back to her own room.

Morgan shrugged. "She has a point. The sooner we get up, the sooner we catch the Unsub, the sooner we get back to DC." He turned back to Spencer. "Put that away and try to get some sleep."

"Yes Mother."

"Hey."Morgan waited until Spencer looked up, "Do not make me come over there and spank you."

**Frisco Police Department**

**Frisco, CO**

Spencer sat slumped over the table, his head cradled in his hands, working his knee under the table. This morning they'd found the three basketball players, their bodies propped against the gym wall. And last night two more football players had disappeared. Now they had three points, now they could do a geographic profile and narrow the search grid. But for that to be at all efficient he needed to go over the map and look at the various probabilities for each location, depending on what they knew about the Unsubs. Right now that was impossible because every time he looked at the map through the haze of pain in his head he saw two of them.

Morgan came in and looked at him. "You okay?"

No, I'm not, Spencer thought. I'm having a migraine or I'm repressing memories of the terror of having a knife in your scrotum or demons from hell are dancing the marimba on my cerebral cortex. I just wish my head and my knee would explode and get it over with. "No," he replied. He dimly realized that Morgan was moving to the windows. Yesterday it had been cloudy, and this room seemed perfect to set up, but today was clear, and the sunlight was achingly bright through the thin mountain atmosphere. "They don't have blinds." He managed to croak.

"Hey," Emily walked in the room. "They're going over to the Synagogue of the Summit; they're setting up the search base in their basement. It's on the right side of town." She looked over at Spencer. "Mr. Wizard isn't doing well, is he?"

"No," Morgan replied as Spencer groaned. "Did you say they were setting up in a synagogue?"

"Yeah, it's on the most likely side of town to start the search and it has a gym in the basement. They volunteered the space." Emily blinked as Morgan went to start gathering up the paper work. It took her a moment to realize what he was doing, "No."

"Why not? I'm following my gut here. Besides," Morgan gestured at Spencer, "He's useless the way he is."

Emily warily shook her head, "All right, but just the stuff for the geographic profile. We don't need to share the crime scene photos with the world." She went to help sort and gather. "Hey Seaver?" She called to the younger woman. "Would you grab one of the laptops, please? I've got the paperwork. Morgan, you bring the computer?"

"Got it," he practically picked Spencer up by the shoulders and shoved him out the door.

**Synagogue of the Summit**

**Frisco, CO**

The gym in the basement had frosted windows high on the walls. They let in enough light to illuminate the large room well, while preventing glare. Enough light that they didn't need to turn on the overhead fluorescents.

"There's space over here." Emily led Spencer and Morgan over to a table in a quiet corner.

Morgan looked over at Spencer, who had been moaning lightly for most of the drive and limping on his way in here. "How's your head."

Spencer stood there, blinking. "Um, fine." The pain was barely even lingering, it had started ebbing away as soon as they got out of the car, and was almost completely gone. Granted his knee was no better, but he didn't need that to think. He turned to Emily, took back the paperwork and went immediately to work.

Emily returned to Morgan's side and shook her head. "Okay, the horror movie crap can stop at any time."

"I know." Morgan agreed with her. "It could be the lighting in here; they didn't have any blinds in the station."

"Or it could be that God is not as picky as mankind makes him out to be." She replied.

"Hey, deputy," Spencer flagged over a local officer. He showed him the satellite image Garcia had sent. "What's this building here?" He asked, pointing to a roof in the middle of nowhere."

"That's the old mill." The deputy told him. "You need a 4-wheel drive to get there."

"Sounds like a great place for a post-homecoming party." Morgan said

"Or a gang rape," Emily pointed out.

"And it's far enough out that no one would hear the screaming." Spencer added.

"Okay, let's go check it out." Morgan nodded. "Reid, you stay here."

"Wait." Emily stopped him. "Why?"

"Look, you said it yourself, horror movies." Morgan said. "What's one of the things the dumb kids do in those things? They leave the sanctuary, go out in the woods and get picked off by the monsters or demons or whatever. I'm not going to make that mistake."

"So now we're profiling Satan?" Emily asked, with all due sarcasm.

"Well some have theorized that modern cinema is a reflection of our collective unconscious, and so the various tropes that repeat consistently are a reflection of an actual truth in the world that we cannot allow our conscious minds to accept as reality." Spencer said.

Emily just looked at him a minute. "Well, we know he's feeling better." She said to Morgan.

Morgan sighed. "I told Hotch I got this, I just want to make sure everything is covered and everyone is safe. Besides," he grinned at Emily, teasing, "we're supposed to be the best team in the BAU, if anyone can profile the devil it's got to be us."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that." Emily said. "So what are we going to tell Strauss if she asks? We can't tell her we didn't want to risk demon exposure."

"Blame the temperature and altitude and tell her you didn't want me falling off the side of the mountain." Spencer stretched his knee again, this time applying a little more twist and he finally got it to pop. He could almost swear the crack was loud enough to echo and he watched Morgan and Emily wince in sympathy. "I don't think I could handle the terrain out there anyway. You know, at this point I think Seaver is well past me in the ass-kicking department. Take her instead."

"At least she'll be useful for something." Emily muttered as she and Morgan headed for the stairs.

* * *

The Unsubs turned out to be a combination of boys and girls from the local high school, all of whom met on a semi-private social networking site, and who all banded together to take out their revenge on the students who had tormented or raped them. As he helped haul them into the station Morgan wondered if having each other for support meant that they would not develop C-PTSD in the future. Granted they were now going to be in captivity for the rest of their lives, so it had ample time to develop later.

After that he came back to the synagogue to collect Spencer and the gear they had brought. "You know you're staying at my place tonight, right?" He asked Spencer as they packed.

Spencer opened his mouth to protest, but realized it was useless; not until trust had been regained. And that was probably a good thing. "Yeah. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. What time did you used to go to this bookstore?"

"Um, afternoons, maybe about three, that way I had something to read over dinner."

"Okay, tomorrow is Wednesday. I have to go do some repairs for one of my tenants in the morning. You come with me and we'll hit that bookstore at three, and see what happens." Morgan stacked the file boxes and picked them up. "I don't want to talk about it again between now and then."

Spencer blinked at him a moment. "Are you discussing it here so that demons can't overhear you?" Even he was having trouble buying this one.

"Hey, better safe than sorry. Your luck we'd end up in an accident on the way there, and I like my car."

Bottom of Form


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**Georgetown Used and Rare Books**

**Washington DC**

Georgetown Used and Rare Books was larger than most used bookstores. Located in a building at least a hundred years old, and historically exempt from most building codes, it sprawled over three stories. The main floor was lined in books, with the traditional tall stacks running perpendicular to the door. Two stairways, one spiral, took patrons up to the second floor loft. And over on the left hand side a wide staircase swept to the basement in a gentle curve.

Spencer and Morgan walked in, the former bowed and wincing from the light in his eyes. Even indoors it was still too bright, the large windows on the front of the shop let in far more illumination than was needed. He stood there and looked around, waiting for a revelation, but none came.

"Well, okay, now what?" Morgan asked.

"I don't know." Spencer admitted. "I usually go straight down to the philosophy and psychology sections in the basement. This floor is mostly fiction."

"Do that then." Morgan said. "I'll wait up here." He shrugged. "I guess just pick up any book that catches your eye, hopefully one of them has some kind of an answer. I don't know what else to do." Horror movie rules. If they didn't find anything here they were at a dead end until Dr. Messer could come up with something.

Spencer nodded and headed downstairs.

* * *

Down here the stacks ran parallel to the front, and it was cooler, darker and much less populated. In the far corner, home of philosophers of all kinds, they had run out of tall stacks, so at the very end there were two low cases, making a quiet, somewhat more open area with a counter.

Spencer's head tipped sideways as he went into reader's trance, considering title after title. As he wandered past philosophy, heading down to the corner where he'd encounter poetry and then psychology he began to amass a stack in his hands. Any book that seemed at all likely, or that looked interesting, or that just caught his eye was added. He was running on instinct, going with his gut as Morgan would say, and when he reached the counter he would stop and sort and see if any of them actually had any answers.

This lasted right up until he found a little leather-bound copy of the works of John Donne.

Now utterly distracted, he placed the little jewel of a book on top of the pile, leaving it open so he could admire some of the finely crafted pages. Clearly this wasn't going to work; he couldn't read and carry a stack of books at the same time. He'd tried it before, hadn't he? This never worked in the college library, why should it work here?

He came around the last of the tall stacks, eyes on the page in front of him, rather hoping he'd hit the counter with his pile, and bumped solidly into someone else.

* * *

Upstairs Morgan looked up from the spy novel he'd found when a loud growl echoed around the room. Looking around for the source of the angry sound he spotted a guy on a Harley outside. Had to be, right? That's hard on an engine, he thought, as he went back to the book.

* * *

"Oof."

Spencer instinctively tried to catch as a rain of books fell to the floor. He looked down as they landed around his feet, and around a pair of black and white saddle shoes standing right next to him. Without thinking he crouched down and started picking them all up.

"Oh, I am so sorry!"

The owner of the saddle shoes crouched down next to him. He looked up and straight into a pair of hazel green eyes mere inches away; green eyes, soft brown curls, slightly chapped lips and just a scattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose. I always thought forgetting to breathe was a metaphor, he thought, but I seem to be running low on oxygen.

"This is my fault." She said. She had a voice straight out of the deep, old South, one that would have done Scarlett O'Hara proud. "I wasn't looking where I was going at all."

"No. No, it's all right. Um." He broke eye contact somehow, to look down at the pile of books at their feet. "I wasn't looking either. These aren't all mine."

"No, about half of them are mine." She admitted. She looked down at the pile, started slowly gathering them and placing them on the counter. "Now I don't remember which ones though. What a mess we've made."

For some reason Spencer found that remarkably funny. He sank back until he was sitting with his back against the shelf as he started laughing helplessly. She just looked at him, curiously, but then the laughter became infectious and she was laughing right along with him.

Eventually they had to catch their breath. "I don't know what was so funny." She said, even as she still chuckled a little.

"I don't either." He admitted. "I came down here looking for answers and now all we have is a pile." He picked up a book and looked at it. It had been in his hands just a moment ago. That seemed like forever for some reason. "I remember which ones were mine. You're the first person I've ever met who bought as many as I do."

"You're looking for answers; you're in the wrong section." She said. "This end is all about the questions."

"I know. I usually come down here for stuff for school."

"School?"

"George Washington. I'm working on my Philosophy degree." Was working on it, Spencer thought.

"Wow. Is that your first?"

"Um, no, it's my sixth." He admitted. "I like school."

That made her eyebrows go up. "Okay, now I'm impressed."

He rubbed the back of his neck, not sure why he felt a little embarrassed. "It's not that big of a deal."

"Yeah it is. I'm just glad you're at George Washington.

Spencer raised an eyebrow at that. "Why is that?"

"Just am."

"So why do you come down here?" He asked, by way of conversation. "It's not the most popular section."

"I, um, already have my philosophy degree."

"BA?"

"Um," he found himself fascinated by the play of emotions on her face. He spent all his time around profilers who could, had to, conceal their feelings behind thick shields so the Unsubs couldn't see their reactions. Hers were out there, for all the world to see. He didn't want to stop watching. "PhD," she admitted, as she winced.

He laughed again. "What?"

"At my age? Most guys run when they hear that."

"I have three myself."

"Yeah ?" She looked both relieved and curious now. "In what?"

"Mathematics, chemistry and engineering."

She nodded. "Now I know why you're down in Philosophy. You know I am sorry I bumped in to you. Are you okay?"

"Oh no, please." He waved off her apology. "I wasn't looking either. I'm fine. Are you all right?"

"Yes, thank you, no harm done." Looking around the pile, she noticed the little leather-bound copy of John Donne. "Was this one yours?" She asked, turning it over in her hands. "'Cause if it wasn't, I think it's going to be mine."

"Really?"

"Mmm-hmmm," she nodded, and opened the book, flipping it to a random spot.

"TWICE or thrice had I loved thee,  
Before I knew thy face or name;  
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame  
Angels affect us oft, and worshipp'd be.  
Still when, to where thou wert, I came,  
Some lovely glorious nothing did I see.  
But since my soul, whose child love is,  
Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,  
More subtle than the parent is  
Love must not be, but take a body too ;  
And therefore what thou wert, and who,  
I bid Love ask, and now  
That it assume thy body, I allow,  
And fix itself in thy lip, eye, and brow."

"Oh, that wasn't what I meant to read." She said as she flipped again.

"That's cheating." Spencer told her. He'd leaned over, resting his head on his arms on his knees, utterly entranced there for a moment. I hope Morgan's not in any hurry, he thought, because I could easily sit here and listen to her for the rest of the day. "Finish it?" He asked, far more gently as the world held its breath.

She looked over at him and gave him a smile that stole into his blood and settled there, "All right."

"Whilst thus to ballast love I thought,  
And so more steadily to have gone,  
With wares which would sink admiration,  
I saw I had love's pinnace overfraught ;  
Thy every hair for love to work upon  
Is much too much ; some fitter must be sought ;  
For, nor in nothing, nor in things  
Extreme, and scattering bright, can love inhere ;  
Then as an angel face and wings  
Of air, not pure as it, yet pure doth wear,  
So thy love may be my love's sphere ;  
Just such disparity  
As is 'twixt air's and angels' purity,  
'Twixt women's love, and men's, will ever be."

The poem hung in the air for a long, perfect moment. "Keep it." He told her. "It ought to go home with you."

Just then he heard an all too familiar phone ringing upstairs.

* * *

Morgan looked down at his phone and thought in curses. Missing kids, all the other teams out, they hadn't even had a chance to do their laundry.

He walked over to the head of the stairs and called down. "Reid, we've got to go!"

* * *

Spencer looked back up over his shoulder and sighed as Morgan's voice carried down the stairs. "On my way!" He called back, then stood and offered his hand to help her to her feet. "I never do this, but, well that's a friend from work and we're probably going to be out of town a few days…um, can I… call you? Would you like to have coffee sometime?"

She looked at him with those gentle eyes a long moment. "I never do this either but, uhh…"He watched, helpless, as her cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink. "I think I'd like that." She gave him that warming smile again. "Sure."

"Great." He could feel himself grinning like the classical fool. "I'm Spencer by the way."

"Elizabeth."

* * *

Morgan waited at the top of the stairs. Just as he was about to call down again Spencer came back up, nearly falling on his ass twice as he kept looking over his shoulder, a goofy looking grin plastered on his face. Morgan couldn't help but notice that his hands were empty. "Didn't find anything?"

"No. Well, um, maybe." Spencer replied.

Morgan noticed that even as they got closer to the windows his friend wasn't flinching. "Maybe?" he asked as they headed out side and toward the car.

Spencer was about to answer when someone called out behind them. "Wait a minute!" Spencer stopped and turned, causing Morgan to do the same. A moment later Morgan saw a young woman come out of the bookstore. She looks like a college student, he thought, jeans, a pale green shirt and a hooded sweatshirt which probably has a college insignia embroidered over the breast. Her brown curls were flying around her head and shoulders as she all but ran over and handed Reid a slip of paper. "You're gonna need this."

"Thanks," he said, with that goofy grin, as he started walking to the car again.

"Hey, don't I get yours?" She called after them. Southern belle, Morgan realized, given that accent.

"It's in your pocket." Spencer called back.

Morgan turned again when she started laughing, after finding his card in her left front pocket. And then Spencer was laughing too. The both of them kept turning to look at each other until she reached the doors.

When they got to the car Spencer got in on the passenger side. Morgan stopped a moment and looked up. All right Lord, he thought in the direction of whatever or whoever was up there, I'm in. Any help you need you know where to find me.

* * *

Pome – _Air and Angels_ by John Donne. Written prior to 1635 and no longer under copyright.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**Office of Harold Wickham, D. D.**

**Washington DC**

Elizabeth didn't bother with knocking on the outer door. She had the code for the lock, let herself in, and made sure it was locked behind her. Her saddle shoes made little sound on the floor as she headed down to the only lit office. Once inside she didn't bother with the usual pleasantries, just took off her sweatshirt, flopped down on the couch, and picked up the carton of Happy Family Chow Ho Fun with the fork already stuck in the top. "So, how's Tómas?" She asked, skipping neatly over the first part of the conversation.

Harry Wickham watched this performance with a small smile. For ten years he'd mentored this young woman through her graduate work and into her, so far, successful career. By now she was no longer just an associate, or a student. She was closer to the daughter he would never have, and it amused them both for her to act like it when they met for supper on Wednesday nights. Especially when she was in trouble, and they both knew it. "He misses you." Nodding as she asked about his partner. "He said to come over Sunday, he's making posole." He started, picking up his chopsticks and his own carton of General Tso's Chicken. No one would mistake them for family once they both opened their mouths. The sound of upper class England contrasted sharply against her soft southern drawl. "You know I asked you to come over because you've missed your last three therapy appointments. Can we skip over the part where you whine like an obnoxious thirteen-year-old about how you hate therapy, and then I remind you that it's a condition of your position and have to make noises about what might happen which I will never follow through with and which you will only find disconcertingly threatening? Why don't we just go straight to why you stopped showing up this time?"

Elizabeth paused in her unproductive stabbing and twirling of the noodles, "Because I didn't want to talk about what she wanted to talk about. Since she refused to let it go I decided to not join in the conversation. I put the time to better use."

"Perhaps she wants you to talk about it because she thinks it's important. Perhaps she thinks it's something you need to face." Harry pointed out.

"Perhaps she's seeing things that aren't there." Elizabeth countered. "There is no mystery trauma in my life I'm repressing. Every trauma I went through is out for the entire world to see. It's all been well documented in a dozen or so notebooks, copious psychiatrist's reports, and more bad art than I'll admit to making. The only thing I haven't done is set it to musical comedy. I've been in therapy for five years, Harry. I've cleaned my subconscious, I swear."

"And you know as well as I do that this is a problem that doesn't just go away." Harry leaned back and stretched his long legs, the desk light giving his white hair the gleam of a halo. "Five years, ten years, twenty, the wounds heal over but the scars remain, and one bad incident can re-open them. Bess, you know you need ongoing therapeutic support."

"I know it's an ongoing process, but you can re-integrate." Elizabeth put down her noodles the better to count on her fingers. "I've established physical safety. I've been safe since the day I moved on to St. John's Road next door to you and Tómas."

"Have you? Establishing physical safety includes self-care. She's concerned about your eating habits and your weight."

"I'm twenty-six Harry, in case you don't remember. At my age burgers and milkshakes one or…two times a week aren't going to do me any harm. Neither is being ten pounds overweight. I like my body. I like what it can do. As long as my partners can still get me around-the-world I'm not going to put myself through the stress of dieting." She went back to her fingers. "I have an established support network. I have you and Tómas, Thelma, Mr. Johnson, even Larry if you push it. And then the greater community beyond that."

"And I don't think you've discussed this issue with any of them other than me and Thelma."

"But I know if I needed them they would be there for me. Three: Reconnect the narrative of the trauma. I have a trunk full of journals that reconnect the narrative. I could make you a timeline, connect it to national politics and weather patterns if you want. Besides, I've gone over it so much now, there's nothing left that I don't remember. I have all of the connections well and truly in place and understood."

Harry smiled at her. "How do you know that you don't remember something? If you knew, you'd be remembering it."

Elizabeth ignored that for a time. "I've done the hard cognitive stuff. I took the time to do all those flooding sessions back when I was doing my associates work. Now I'm not going to sit here and say I liked it, but I did it and at this point I have to agree, I'm the better for it."

Harry nodded at her. "I know that was difficult for you. I'm proud of you for facing it as you did."

"Thank you Harry." Elizabeth could feel herself flushing a little. Praise still did that to her, even now. "You were there on the day I buried my parents, you know I mourned their loss and what they took with them." Harry nodded, so she started on the other hand. "I've been able to accept what I had to do and re-integrated it into the greater narrative of my life to the point of being able to draw on my own experiences to help others. And I have become part of a community again, one I love." She shook her head. "I've done all of it Harry. I'm as healthy and healed as you can get."

Excellent, Harry thought, she's getting frustrated. If I get her wound up enough she may finally let something slip. "Then why is your psychiatrist insisting you still have issues you have yet to face?"

"Because there are some things I just don't want to talk about." Elizabeth picked up her noodles and started poking them again. "I have a right to privacy, you know."

"Not with your psychiatrist."

"Not my psychiatrist, your psychiatrist. If she was my psychiatrist she wouldn't be giving you reports."

"All I really need is a scheduling sheet showing that you were there. I only get reports because I'm worried about you. Do you want to get your own psychiatrist?"

"Not really."

He decided to try another tack. "Do you want me to be your psychiatrist?"

Elizabeth chuckled. "Harry, you've been like a father to me. So discussing my sex life with you would be a very wrong thing."

Gotcha, Harry thought. "So that's what this is about then, hm?"

Elizabeth groaned into her noodles. Caught. "Just because I want to wait until I find the right guy, maybe even until after I marry him, that doesn't mean that I'm actively repressing my sexuality or I'm afraid of men or that I have some lingering horror buried deep in my subconscious. It's an active, positive decision I've made for myself. That's all."

"Mmm-hmmm. And what criteria did you use to base this decision."

"That's not your business. Not yours, not hers, not anyone else's." Elizabeth looked up from her poor, tortured noodles. "You knew all this before I came in here, didn't you?"

Harry nodded. "Her concern isn't based on your decision. Which you would have learned had you gone back to your next appointment."

"So what is it?"

"It's that you're not even looking. Seriously Bess, when was the last time you went out? Dancing, a play, a lecture, anything?"

"I've…been busy." Elizabeth gave up on torturing the noodles and sat back with a sigh. "You know how my schedule has been for months now. It's been one thing after another. I haven't had a chance to go out and meet anyone. Well…hadn't had a chance to meet anyone."

"Hadn't?" Harry knew how telling the smallest detail could be with this one. "That's past tense."

"I know. I…I met this guy. I stopped at the bookstore like I always do on my day off. I bumped into him in the Philosophy section, literally. We started talking and reading poetry…" A small, shy smile Harry had never seen before touched her face as she remembered the tall young man with the soft voice and intelligent eyes. "I don't know, there was just something about him. He got called away to work, but he asked if we could get together for coffee in a few days. I…I gave him my number." She shook her head. "I've never done that before, but there was just something…"

Harry started chuckling. "Well, well, well, this is an interesting development. I assume you're going to take him up on his offer of a coffee then?"

"I…I think so, most likely."

"Do." He took a bite of his fiery chicken. "Does this young fellow have a name and a profession?"

"Spencer, and he works for the FBI. His card says he's a Supervisory Special Agent. He also has his PhD."

"A professor then?" At her nod he frowned. "Is this actually a 'young' fellow?"

"Yeah, he's close to my age. Not more than two or three years older, at most."

Young for a professor, Harry thought, but if there was one there had to be more. "All right. And does he have a last name?"

"Why, so you can get Vic Barnes to run a background check?" Elizabeth chuckled herself when her mentor's face fell. "Caught you. Let me get through the first date, at least. We will be in public, I will drive myself there and back, and I won't tell him where I live. I know all the rules."

"And when you go back to therapy tell her all about it. It will go a long way toward settling your case." Harry frowned a bit as he realized what she was, and was not, wearing. "Did you tell him about…?" He made a small gesture.

"About what I do for a living or that I got my PhD before I turned twenty?"

"Either. Or both."

"Neither one. I didn't want to scare him right off."

"Well, don't let it linger, Bess, don't let it linger." Harry looked firm for a moment. "If he's scared off by either then he's not good enough for you."

Elizabeth smiled at him, warmly this time. "You sound like Nana you know."

"I shall take that as a compliment. Marie Baxter was a most impressive woman." He settled more deeply in his chair as his associate finally started actually eating her noodles. "So tell me what else has been going on with you."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**Gulfstream 500**

**Central US airspace**

The children were safe, the Unsub was caught. They'd had a chance to catch a little sleep before finishing up this morning. Now Hotch was doing paperwork. Seaver was studying. And the rest of the team was playing poker.

"So, you never told us what happened with your trip to the Twilight zone. " Emily said, putting down two cards. "What did you find at the bookstore, _The Wisdom of the Ancient Masters_?"

"_The Grand Grimore of Torquemada_?" Rossi suggested as he put down three

Spencer kept his focus on his cards. They tease because they like me, he thought. It's actually not mean; it's kind of all right.

Morgan was chuckling. "No, our boy here walked out of there with only one piece of paper."

"From a fortune cookie?" Emily guessed.

"Nope, from a cute little brunette," Morgan informed them. "I'm guessing a coed and it was her phone number."

"Professor," Spencer muttered into his cards.

"What?" Morgan asked.

"Professor, not coed, she has a PhD in Philosophy." Why was it okay to talk about this girl, this time? He was supposed to having a panic attack right about now.

Morgan blinked at that. "You sure? She couldn't be more than what 20, 25."

"Look who you're talking to." Rossi pointed out.

"Good point."

Rossi turned to Spencer. "Do we have a name?"

"Elizabeth," even saying it gave Spencer an odd sort of settled feeling.

"Last name?"

Spencer pulled the slip of paper from his pocket. "No."

Rossi managed to keep a straight face, but was clearly enjoying the interrogation, "So, Dr. Elizabeth. Do we know anything else about her?"

The three of them were amused to see the tips of Spencer's ears turning pink. "She has a gift for reading poetry."

Morgan chuckled again. "I can believe it." When the other two looked at him he grinned. "Hard core Southern Belle. She sounded like an extra from_ Gone with the Wind_."

"I can see the appeal." Rossi turned back to Spencer. "Have you called her yet?"

"Um, no," Spencer took three cards. "I told her I'd call when I got back, maybe we'd get coffee. I figured I'd give it a day or two." I expected to be nervous just thinking about that, he thought, but I'm really not.

Rossi shook his head. "It's already been two days. We'll be on the ground by three, go call her, see what she's doing tonight."

"But I..."

"He's right man." Morgan agreed. "Always strike when the iron is hot. Go call her."

"But…"

"I hate to agree with these two, but go." Emily pulled the cards away. "I'm not dealing you into another hand until you call."

"Fine," Spencer got up, pulled out his phone, and went to head off to another part of the plane. But Seaver was there and Hotch was there and well... He crossed the aisle, sat, and dialed.

Rossi looked over at Morgan, opened his arms and looked up to heaven.

Morgan shrugged. "Dr. Messer did say he needed a life outside of the BAU. If this is the big guy's idea of help, I'm in."

"Hi, Elizabeth? Um, this is Spencer. We met at the bookstore?"

"One date does not make a support system." Rossi pointed out.

"Um, well, I said I'd call when we got back into town. We're on our way back, and I was wondering if you'd like to get coffee tonight, maybe?"

"No, but it has to start somewhere." Emily replied. "I'm in too."

"Oh. You're busy tonight?"

Rossi threw peanuts at Spencer until the younger man looked in his direction. Ask her what she's doing, he mouthed. Ask her what she's doing.

"Um, I know it's not my business, but do you have to work late or…Oh. Wow. They let you do that with a doctorate in Philosophy?... Oh, cool."

"I'm in." Rossi said. "He's gonna need the help."

"Yeah, I could probably do that. Hold on a minute." Spencer put the phone on mute and turned to the group. "What do I have to do to get one of you to cover my paperwork tonight?"

"Why?" Emily asked.

"Her thing doesn't start until eight, she suggested dinner."

"Excellent." Rossi said.

Morgan chuckled. "Come in and help me box up the old files for the archive tomorrow and I'll cover you."

"Deal," Spencer went back to his phone. "Okay, I can meet you…five o'clock…where? All right, yeah, I'll see you then." Spencer hung up the phone and just sat there, staring at it.

"Well?" Rossi asked

Spencer shook himself. "We're having dinner. I mean, we're meeting for dinner." He looked up, "This is a real date, isn't it?"

Rossi sighed. "Yes, it is. Where are you taking her?"

"Um, I don't know." Spencer moved back to his seat at the poker game and backed up a bit. "She volunteers at a rape crisis counselor at the Georgetown ER every Friday night."

"Oh." Emily said, as she started to deal the next hand. "That's hard core. I may have to like her."

"She said there's this place nearby where she always gets dinner. I'm going to meet her in the parking lot and go over there with her." He was still in shock at how easy this had all been, how natural. He blinked down at the cards appearing in front of him. "Turns out she also has a Masters in Psychology."

The three of them turned to look at each other. "Tell you what, come back to my place after." Morgan said.

"I'll be fine." Spencer replied.

"Yeah, but I want to be the first to hear all about it." Morgan grinned and helped himself to a handful of popcorn from the pot.

"You know, there's one big question we have yet to answer." Emily pointed out.

"What's that?' Rossi asked.

"Garcia. How many Elizabeth's volunteer at Georgetown on a Friday night?"

Spencer frowned down at his cards. "I really don't want Garcia to look her up." He said. "That just feels…not right somehow." No idea why, it just didn't

"Besides, finding out all her secrets is one of the best parts." Rossi said.

"You would know." Emily replied

**Parking lot**

**Georgetown University Hospital**

**Washington DC**

I always park right behind the guard shack, she had said, they keep one open for me.

Spencer waited behind the guard shack, hunched a little in the cold, crisp evening air. Thankfully it was still early in the year, it was already dark, so, other than having to switch from contacts to glasses, his head was fine. He kept hearing his mother whispering out of his memories, telling him that that girl only wanted dirty, nasty things from him, and that had happened, in the quiet moments between belting in and landing, while lying there trying to get what sleep they'd had these past few days. She's different Mom, he thought. I don't know why but I just know she's different. I like this girl. She's…she's…

_He could hear the kids from school gathered around the goal post, laughing._

He could hear the sound of an engine, one that sounded oddly rough, and it snapped him out of his memories. He turned and blinked and felt himself grinning as a truck pulled into the empty space. "What is this thing?"

"'47 Chevy half-ton," Elizabeth said, leaning out the window before she rolled it up and opened the door. "It belonged to my Granddaddy, first truck he bought after the war. Here," she leaned over sideways and pulled a flashlight from the glove box, passed it over, then pulled something from the visor. It was a picture, Spencer saw, a young couple back in the '40's, curled in each others' arms, leaning against a truck that looked just like this one, two-tone paint job, wooden sides and everything; except in the picture there was a "just married" sign hanging off the side. "That was right before they left on their honeymoon. When I turned sixteen, Nana said I could have any car I wanted. This was the only one for me."

"You were close to them, then?" He asked, passing back the picture.

"I can't say I remember Granddaddy, really, except that Nana told so many stories. Nana and I were close though. She loved him like crazy." For a moment there was something sad in her voice, wistful on her features. Then she got out of the truck, and swung her bag across her body. "You ready?'

"Sure." He said. "Which way are we going?"

"This way."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

Spencer and Elizabeth left the parking lot and started walking. "So, you never told me your last name." Spencer said.

"Baxter, you didn't tell me yours. But I got it off your card, so that's all right." She looked over and smiled at him. "Getting it into my pocket was a neat trick."

"Magic." When she looked a question at him he pulled a fifty-cent piece from his pocket and started walking backwards. "See." He held up the coin, waived his hands and it was gone.

She grinned at that. "Well, I'm impressed. Where'd you learn that?"

"Las Vegas. I grew up there. I'm guessing you are from somewhere south of here."

"Oh, that's not a hard call. I grew up in Atlanta until I was fourteen. Then Nana and I moved to Boston."

"Boston," Spencer considered this a moment. "Isn't that kind of far north for a girl from Atlanta? Why did you move?"

"Harvard," she answered. "Have you done all your work at George Washington?"

"No, I got my first three at CalTech. You never told me why it's good that I'm at George Washington."

"I cover a seminar for a friend at Georgetown sometimes." She turned a little pink around the cheeks again. "I'm glad there's no conflict there,"

"So am I."

They walked along in compatible silence for a while, and then Elizabeth asked. "Can I ask you something?" At Spencer's nod she continued. "Do you ever feel…kinda old? I mean because you got your degree so young."

"And now everyone expects you to act like a staid, old professor?" Spencer stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded. "Only all the time lately, and then you never go out because going out drinking is…" Against the rules, he thought.

"…boring," she filled in. "And you don't watch TV or spend tons of time on the internet, so you never have any idea what anyone is talking about."

"And they don't expect you to anyway, because you're the old professor type."

"And the next thing you know they're bringing you bran muffins for breakfast and telling you to watch your salt and you just want to stand up and scream at them that you're not thirty yet, because they obviously forgot."

Somewhere around the bran muffins he started laughing. "Exactly, I mean, they always look at me funny when I wear a costume for Halloween. I mean, its Halloween for God's sake, why not enjoy yourself." He'd missed wearing a mask to work this year, but with Strauss around he didn't dare.

"Yeah, so, well, it's just that when I'm not at work I kinda like to...well…act my age."

Now that had Spencer curious. "What do you mean?"

She had stopped somewhere back around the Halloween costume. Now she gave him a look that set the nerves in his stomach…no, his groin…dancing, crooked a finger in a come-here gesture, and walked in to the building next to them.

**Eddie's Diner**

**Washington DC**.

It was a perfectly solid diner, the kind of place that gave a nod to the '50's. The kind of place they ate in on a regular basis, where if he ordered what he truly wanted either Morgan or Emily, or both, would ask him if he was really going to eat that. He pursed his lips, and looked down at Elizabeth, who was clearly waiting to see what he would think. "Bacon Cheeseburgers?"

"Best in the city."

"Milkshakes?"

"Real milk, real ice cream, and big enough for two; I prefer chocolate, but I'm flexible."

"French fries or onion rings?"

Elizabeth sighed. "I can never decide."

"We'll get a plate of each and share."

"Deal."

That decision made they slid into a booth and ordered. "You also never told me what you do." Spencer asked, once the waitress moved on.

She went quiet at that. "You're right, I didn't."

That made him pause. "What?"

She sighed. "I'm afraid if I tell you it'll just scare you off or something. We'll never have a chance to get to know each other."

Well, that was interesting. The milkshake landed, and he gave her the glass and took the cold metal sidecar. "Just tell me it's not a prostitute."

She had just been about to sip the thick, chocolaty goodness when he said that, a second later and she obviously would have choked. "What?" She asked, utterly shocked.

"For some reason I have this thing, I attract prostitutes."

She burst out laughing. "You know, someday I am going to remind you of this moment, and you are gonna laugh fit to burst."

"I hope so." That meant he would have seen her again, and more than once.

"So what do you do for the FBI?"

"I'm with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We hunt serial killers. But if you don't have to talk about work then I don't have to talk about work."

Elizabeth's eyebrows went up at that. "Fair enough, but, you know, I have heard of that. A friend of mine has this author she loves, Dave Rossi. He's written all kinds of books about it."

The hard part was trying not to laugh into his milkshake. "A friend of yours, huh? What's she like?"

"Oh, she's a sweetheart. It's like having another mom around."

Wait, "Mom?"

"Yeah, she has three boys. The youngest is a couple years older than me."

"Is she married?"

"Widowed, why?"

He started laughing again. "Rossi and I work on the same team."

"Oh you're kidding." Now she was laughing too.

"Nope, she could be his fourth ex-wife."

"Nuh-uhu honey, if she ever gets her claws in that man she is never gonna let go. Oh, the things she thinks of him."

Still laughing, Spencer held his hands up to ward her off. "Please don't tell me. I'm going to have to look at him across a conference table on Monday."

They laughed until the food came. "So," Elizabeth asked as they traded the mustard and ketchup back and forth. "Do you have any family?"

Spencer nodded, "My Mom. She still lives in Vegas. She's, um, in a care facility there."

That cut through the laughter. "Oh, I'm sorry. I hope it's not serious, but it usually is…"

"She's all right." Spencer was able to honestly reassure her. "She's happy there and they take good care of her." He didn't say anything about his father, hoping she wouldn't ask; "How about you?"

"All gone I'm afraid. Nana was the last; she died when I was eighteen."

He frowned. "Oh wow, I am sorry."

She shrugged. "Thank you, but it's all right. I have people, I'm not alone." She helped herself to a French fry. "Hmmm, any pets?"

"Nope, I'm on the road too much."

"I have an old tom cat. Tiberius."

Spencer paused mid-bite of burger. He could not be that lucky, could he? Could he? He managed to chew and swallow before he asked, "As in James T.?"

That started her chuckling again. "What was the McCoy quote from _Friday's Child_?"

"I'm a doctor, not an escalator. _The Doomsday Machine_?" he asked

"I'm a doctor, not a mechanic. _The Devil in the Dark_?

"I'm a doctor, not a bricklayer. But the tricky one is Kirk's reply…" He almost held his breath.

"You're a healer. There's a patient. That's an order." She grinned and started laughing again. "_Shore Leave_?"

Spencer felt his ears burning, but she did ask. ""My dear girl, I'm a doctor. When I peek, it is in the line of duty." By now they were laughing so hard the waitress was looking at them funny.

**Georgetown University Hospital**

**Washington DC**

"I still argue that Semiramis' sin was against love. If she had not been accorded unto history with the invention of both the chastity belt and the castrati history would not have been so cruel. It was that she allowed for her own lustful nature while trying to control others unfairly." Elizabeth opined as they walked up to the ER entrance

"And I still disagree. Had she not been successful as a regent she would have been looked at more kindly. History has always taken issue with female military leaders, yet never had a problem with leaders controlling the sexuality of their people, especially successful military leaders." Spencer replied.

"Unless those leaders were also female; that's a double whammy of history right there." She countered. "She was castrating men both literally and metaphorically by taking over their leadership roles on the battlefield."

"Good point." Spencer stopped when she did, right outside the door.

Elizabeth looked at the door, and then turned to look up at him. "If I go in there people are going to start calling me by my professional title. And I'm still afraid of scaring you off."

"You won't." He said. He couldn't think of anything she could do that would. I don't want this to end, he realized. I don't remember when I've felt this good before.

"Hm, I'm not so sure." She sighed.

I am not going to let this one go, Spencer thought, I'm not. I don't care what Mother would say or who would laugh or what they would do to me, I'm not. "There's an opening at the Smithsonian this week-end, would you like to go?"

"What's the opening?"

"Um…okay, I confess, I have no idea. I'm just asking you out again."

She laughed. "Okay, when?"

"Umm, Sunday? Granted, I'm on call."

She shook her head. "I work all day."

He thought about it. "I'm off pretty much every Wednesday."

"So am I." She replied. And then she blushed. "But I don't want to wait that long."

"Neither do I," he confessed. "Is tomorrow too soon?"

She considered a moment, "Feels right to me. I'm free after two, say two-thirty?" She sighed. "Assuming nothing comes up. If I call and say work is keeping me away I'm really not blowing you off, it's just unpredictable like that."

Feels right, he thought. Good way of putting it. We ought to be going home together. "I understand. If I call you it's because we're being called out on a case. Meet me at the carousel, we'll decide from there?"

"All right," she reached out and squeezed his gloved hand, a gesture that made his heart all but stop. Don't let go, he thought, don't let go. "Good night Spencer."

"Good night Elizabeth." He stood until she disappeared inside and then walked away.

**Derek Morgan's apartment**

**Washington DC**

**Morgan**

Pretty much right on time there was a knock on his door. Morgan brought his coffee with him, let in his temporary roommate, and noted the smile. Someone had a good time tonight, he thought. I haven't seen him this happy in a while. "So?" He asked.

Spencer walked past him to the table, and started peeling out of jacket and scarf. "She's a Trekkie." He told him.

Morgan took a sip of his coffee. "Yep, a match made in heaven."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

**Georgetown University Hospital**

**Washington DC**

**Elizabeth**

It was 3 in the morning, the witching hour. Elizabeth Baxter stepped out of one of the back doors of the ER, hot tea in hand, pulling her sweater close about her as she settled on the stoop. It was dammed chilly, but right now she needed the cold and the heat in her hands and the sight of the stars to keep her glued to this time and this place.

Why me, she thought. Why me?

She'd just left a patient's room, a young man, not 25. He'd come out of the wrong bar at the wrong time, turned down the wrong street. A group of other men, in from the country, more than likely here to see the sights, had decided that the liberal atmosphere of the city offended them and had decided to take their ire out on the first gay man they saw. One thing had led to another. There are far too many objects, far too much trash in the average alley that can be used for that purpose. He was going to take a long time to heal.

Why me, she thought. Why was I so blessed when others are so hurt?

She'd stayed by his side throughout the entire, horrific process. Speaking gently and kindly to him, holding his hand, letting him know that he was not alone, that someone in this world cared about him right this moment. She'd called his boyfriend, and then stayed with them both while the boyfriend ranted and screamed his anger to the world. She'd stayed until more of their friends showed up, and then had stayed with them all until the victim was out of surgery. She had stayed and stayed, trying to be a calming presence, answering questions when she could, buffering between them and the hospital staff. Through it all, until the victim was safe and asleep in a room, his lover by his side, she had stayed.

And now she was out here, having a cup of tea while she could, before the next one came in.

Why me Lord, she thought. I mean, other than the obvious. Why me?

The obvious, she'd known who the monsters were who did this as soon as she'd heard the victim describe the tattoos they'd worn. She had been able to tell Vic Barnes where to go look for them, who to ask for. She didn't feel the slightest bit bad about that, that righteous bastard ought to know better than to wander his ass across the beltway. Now he was going to get the harassment he so richly deserved, and some of his people would be arrested for this horrific crime, and maybe they would all learn a little. And Vic Barnes knew just enough about what had happened to keep her name out of it all. Thank God for that, it was more than a small victory.

But that was the obvious reason, and only applied tonight. That still didn't answer the greater question. Why me?

She certainly hadn't felt blessed at the time. She'd felt guilty and dirty and regretful, but it had been like a drug that stole its way into her blood and her dreams. It had been the only thing that kept her sane for those last few months. And now, after all these years, she could look back and see the blessing hidden in the heart of the matter.

But she'd never understood why.

She'd avoided it since then, been as abstinent as her Nana had for the last four years of her life. Not for any high or noble reason like Nana, though. No, she wanted to protect that little core of blessing all for her own selfish self. She'd seen what kind of heartbreaks could happen and she knew, a blessing like that shouldn't be so easily thrown away. There has to be a reason Lord, she thought, granted You might never show me what that reason might be. But I'm going to wait and see, just in case. I do just wish You'd let me in on it though.

There was something cool in her hand.

She looked down and realized that she'd pulled out her phone. She'd been on the verge of calling Spencer, of all people, and at 3 in the morning. "Oh, I must be touched." She murmured to no one in particular, and put her phone away before closing her eyes for just a moment…

**Derek Morgan's apartment**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

_It was a hot, late afternoon. The desert sun had cooked the stadium until it was an oven, hot and dry still, even as the sun was setting. _

_Spencer pulled on his wrists until they bled, trying to get free of the ropes, trying anything to just get free. He was tied to the goalpost, hugging it, surrounded by laughing, cheering teen-agers. "Please let me go! Please! Someone help me, please!" The more he begged the harder they laughed at him._

_Then __Trent Hartman came into view, dragging a full trash can, "Time to pack the trash, boys!" He sang out. As if on cue Spencer felt rough hands on him, pulling at his pants, tearing off his shirt. "It didn't happen this way!" He screamed, but no one heard him, and if they did, they only laughed harder. _

_He closed his eyes tight as he felt Trent's hand on the back of his neck. But when Trent leaned forward and he felt hot breath across his ear it wasn't Trent he heard. "Fornicator," Charles Hankel growled in his ear. "We're going to teach you a lesson boy!" Suddenly he felt the hot desert air on the bare skin of his ass and thighs and he opened his eyes. It wasn't Tobias; it was his father Charles standing there with a knife. He couldn't help but go back to screaming. "Please! No, please!"_

"_Let him go!"_

_That was Morgan's voice. He turned and felt such sweet relief at the sight of the large man, coming to help him one more time. Only there were so many here and they were on top of him, bearing him down to the ground, pinning him there as he hollered and fought. They were going to hurt him as well, and it would be all his fault. "No! Leave him alone!"_

_Trent chuckled in his ear. "He's next piglet. He was soooo much fun the last time, now is going to be even better. We've been looking forward to him." Trent delicately licked his ear and laughed again._

"_Stop it! I said stop it!"_

_Everyone's head turned at the sound of a voice that was most certainly not from Vegas. Spencer turned his head and saw Elizabeth wearing some kind of long black dress and being held back by two more members of the football team. They dragged her over and pinned her against the wall, lifting her off her feet. "Fornicator!" Charles Hankel yelled. "I know what you were planning to do with her, you dirty, nasty boy!"_

"_No!" Elizabeth screeched out. They all turned to look at her, laughing still, as she met Hankel's eyes. "__Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis,…" __They all stopped laughing.. "…e__t in noimine Jesu Christi Filii ejus, Domini et Judicis nostri…" Morgan was yelling without words, fighting his way free. "et in virtute Spiritus Sancti…" They're working together, Spencer realized. "ut descedas ab hoc plasmate Dei…"_

_He opened his mouth to yell at her that they were too dumb to know Latin, but a clawed hand suddenly tightened around his throat. He turned to see Hankel, only it wasn't Hankel. It was something so horrific that his brain had trouble putting it into shape. It laughed a laugh that echoed and rolled across the stadium. And then it opened its mouth and there was this foul stench and its forked tongue licked his lips and…._

Spencer jerked awake. He was in Morgan's apartment, on his couch. Clooney was standing on him, pinning him down, and licking his face. He pushed the dog off and rolled to up to a sitting position.

"You okay?" Morgan asked from the bedroom doorway.

"Yeah," Spencer managed to choke out. "Just a nightmare, I'm okay."

"Okay. Come on dog, you're not helping." Morgan called Clooney and they both retreated to the master bedroom.

Spencer got to his feet and staggered off to the bathroom. For a long moment he stood there, shivering in the dark, bracing himself against the back of the toilet, waiting for his stomach to decide if it wanted to keep that burger and milkshake in place or not. He could still feel that thing's hands on his skin, smell breath that was far too horrific for a simple dog. He'd looked in that thing's eyes and knew _exactly_ how it wanted to break him. Exactly what it was going to do, over and over until he…

No, he thought, stop thinking about it. You weren't alone, Morgan was there, and Elizabeth was there. You weren't alone.

But what would they have done to him? To her?

He used the bathroom for its intended purpose, washed up and splashed his face a little, then headed back to the couch. 3 am, he thought, the witching hour, still plenty of time to get some sleep.

**Georgetown University Hospital**

**Washington DC**

**Elizabeth**

"Hey, Bess?" Someone shook her. "Bess?"

Elizabeth's eyes snapped open. Doc Rawson was shaking her gently. "Hey Doc, you need me?"

"No, but if you're going to doze off do it inside. The last thing we need is to treat you for exposure."

"Oh, yeah, that wouldn't be good luck for the place, now, would it?" She held up her tea." "Let me just finish the caffeine and I'll be in." She watched the Doc head back in and shook her head. Yes, it was a late night, but she rarely dozed off like that. "Yep, I must be touched." She decided, and stood up and headed in.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico VA**

**Morgan**

The annual purging of the files, it was supposed to be the Team Leader's job, but Morgan took it so Hotch could spend the day with Jack. Boxing up cases from the year before, making sure everything was in order was no one's idea of fun. Well, maybe Reid's. Speaking of, "Are you going to tell me about your dream last night?"

"I'd rather not." Spencer replied.

Morgan studied the younger man. He'd been all high and happy when he got home from his date, but then he'd been sick again this morning and now something was weighing on him. "Yeah, well, after last night and with another date today I'd expect you to be happier than this."

"I think I'm going to call her and cancel today." Spencer informed him, although he made no move for his phone.

"Oh no, you are not." Morgan said. I'll take that phone from you if you try, he thought. "You're going to go out there today and you are going to have fun. Now what is eating you?"

"Nothing."

"Reid."

"Nothing!"

"Reid."

"All right," Spencer tossed his pen on the table and rubbed his eyes much too hard. "Last night I dreamed that I was back on the football field in high school. Only Charles Hankel was there with them."

"I can see that as a nightmare." Morgan nodded, "Go on."

"Yeah…well…" Morgan could tell Spencer was skipping over details. Not that he planned to push for them. "About halfway through you were coming to help me, and they said you were next."

"Well, they can bring it." Morgan told him. "Don't worry about me."

"They almost had you. But then Elizabeth showed up, and they almost had her, and then she started saying something in Latin and they stopped and…and I woke up."

Yep, he's leaving out some details, Morgan thought, but the gist of it is clear. "Kid, those guys are all dead or gone. They're not coming after you or me or your girl."

"But we've had Unsubs follow us home before. Look at Haley, look at Sarah. Look at Elle and Garcia and my Mom." Spencer said, clearly upset. "What right do I have to expose Elizabeth to that risk? I mean, I like her, all right, I admit it. For that reason alone I shouldn't be risking bringing an Unsub to her door."

Morgan sat back and sighed. He couldn't deny that the risk was there, the kid was right about that. "Well, maybe you ought to tell her that." He shook his head at Spencer's shocked look. "You don't need to give her all the details, just explain to her that we've had problems before, that there is a risk. Let her make the decision."

Spencer sighed. "It seems wrong to…I don't know…sully her with knowledge of what we have to face."

"Man, if she can't handle your work then she's not the right girl for you." Morgan nodded firmly. "Tell her, let her decide. What was she saying in Latin?"

"I looked it up this morning. She was starting the rite of Exorcism."

"And here I thought we were past the horror movie crap."

**The National Mall**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

Spencer found Elizabeth sitting on a bench, watching the kids on the carousel in front of the Smithsonian Castle. He stood there for a moment, watching her. She looked much the same as she had the first two times he'd seen her, jeans, saddle shoes, grey hooded sweatshirt with the Harvard crest on the breast. A shirt that looked like an oxford shirt, but wasn't, there was something odd about the collar, and a small, black, leather messenger bag now resting on the seat beside her. And that air of calmness and grace, of somehow being right with the world, which drew him like nothing else. She was sitting cross-legged, watching the children yell and laugh; a gentle smile on her face. He dropped down beside her and grinned when she looked his way. "Hello."

"Hiya," Elizabeth looked back at the carousel as it started up for another ride. "This was a good place to meet. I like watching the kids, I like seeing them happy."

"You know, this is actually a 1947 Allan Herschell Carousel. It was installed in 1981, when it replaced a 1922 one that had been installed by Smithsonian Secretary S. Dillon Ripley in 1967. There was a great deal of controversy when it went in because people were afraid that he was pandering to tourists instead of maintaining the museums reputation as an academic institution. They were afraid he was going to turn the mall into another Disneyland." Spencer realized he'd thrown his mouth into gear again, while he was distracted with looking at her. "I'm babbling, aren't I?"

She turned to him and shook her head. "No, I don't think so. I like listening to you," then turned back to watch the carrousel turn. "So which museum are we going to?"

"Um I don't know. I wanted to talk to you a little first."

"All right."

How the hell do you start this, he thought? "Um…you know I almost didn't come down here today."

"Really?" She turned and looked at him, her expression both curious and mildly offended. "That's a heck of a way to start a second date."

"No…no…I wanted to. I really wanted to a lot. It's just that…" Spencer took a deep breath and jumped. "Sometimes work follows us home. Um, we've had a few people on our team have their homes invaded and they've been hurt and, um, a few have even died. Um…my boss, our team leader, his wife died…was killed and my mentor, his girlfriend, and….well, I just don't know that it's right to, um…I don't know that you should take that kind of risk…"

"Spencer." She interrupted, finally. "It's all right."

"No. No, it's not."

"Yes, it is." She looked over and smiled in a way that settled the world around them. "I know you're trying to protect me, and I understand that you want me safe. And thank you for that, it's very sweet and kind. Now I'm about to say something you may not understand right off."

"What's that?"

"I have faith."

Spencer sat there and blinked a little at that, "As in religious faith?"

"Yep," she smiled a deeply amused smile. "Church every Sunday, which," she held up a finger to derail his train of thought, "does not mean I take the Bible literally. I think a woman has a right to make her own choices, that biblical law is outdated, that the theory of evolution is as correct as we're gonna get, I've even ma…I think everyone has the right to marry. And so on down the line. I'm not even sure Christ was a historical figure."

Okay, this train of thought had to connect with the previous one somewhere. "Okay, if you don't believe Christ was literally real or that the Bible is literally true then why be a Christian."

"Short form?" He nodded to that. "I believe the Holy Spirit is real. I do believe something is out there, something greater than the sum of ourselves that truly wants to make the world a better place. Not an anthropomorphized sky figure, but _something_. And I believe that I at least, have a moral obligation to help that effort, and I choose to work within this structure."

"I want to ask what that has to do with the danger of serial killers coming to your house, but at the moment my priority questions is, are you going to be upset if I don't share your beliefs, because I don't."

"Nope. I have no desire to change or convert you. I like you the way you are."

"Thank you." Spencer decided to attempt to knock this train back on track. "So what does this have to do with the idea of Unsubs...?"

"Luke 12:48"

Spencer mentally flipped through the bible in his head. "But he that knew not, and did commit things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with few stripes. For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more."

"You know, I'm gonna envy you, having the whole thing memorized." She chuckled. "'For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required.' I reckon there's a reason why I made it through what I did, and why I got through college so young. And I figure that means a lot of work, but it also means that whatever is out there, God or the Holy Spirit or whatever, has a plan going. And it's not going to let it be thrown off by one of your Unsubs. And so," Elizabeth said, settling back on the bench. "I have faith."

As much as he wanted to explore all that from a philosophical point of view, his inner profiler caught something and sent up a flag. "Why you made it through what you did?"

She turned away for a moment, watched the children play. "If you're looking for a girl with a perfectly clean slate you're on the wrong bench."

Oh. "I could say the same." Spencer just sat there, looking at her for a long moment. "You know, I'm going to have to spend the rest of the evening trying to poke holes in your logic."

"That's fine." She said, "Keeps me on my toes. In the meantime, what museum are we going to?"

"Air and Space?"

"The one here or the one out by the airport?"

Now that was confusing. "There's one out by the airport?"

"You've never been?" Elizabeth turned back to see Spencer shake his head. "Oh, we're catching the bus to head out there then, there's something you need to see." She pulled her bag across her body and stretched her legs. "You know, I've never been on one of those."

Now that had him shocked, "What, a carrousel?"

"Nope, deprived childhood I guess," she said with a tease of a smile.

He blinked at her a few times. Must have been, he thought. "Oh, well we need to fix that. Come on."

A few minutes later he was standing next to her as she rode her first carrousel horse, his own legs too long to let him ride. They were both too busy laughing to care.

**National Air and Space Museum**

**Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center**

**Washington DC**

The problem with the museum annex was that it was all huge buildings and more than a little outside. It was almost too cold to be out here. But once inside surely they could warm up, right? Right?

Elizabeth led Spencer straight to the space hanger, where they paused for a moment to pull off gloves and loosen scarves. Although it took him a moment to get started, he was too distracted by what was in front of him. "Is that...a space shuttle?" he asked.

"Oh that's not just any space shuttle. Come here." She reached out and took his hand and Spencer felt something shift. Maybe there was static in the air or maybe someone opened a door somewhere, but something shifted and settled and opened somehow. And given the way she looked back at him in that moment, her eyes gone wide, she felt it too. "Come on." She said, much more gently, and tugged him in the direction of the exhibit.

She pulled him around to the side of the ship and pointed up at it. For a moment he was too distracted by that lingering sense of whatever it was to look away from her, but when he did his jaw dropped. "Is it…really?"

"Yep, it really is." She laughed, delighted, taking his attention from what was before him. "It really is the star ship _Enterprise_. It's really been out there."

"Wow." He said. But he never could tell later if he was more amazed by the ship before him, or the girl holding his hand.


	18. Chapter 18

**BAU headquarters**

**Quantico VA**

**Spencer**

_It was a shack, a wooden shack in the middle of nowhere. The foul reek of blood and excrement and burning fish livers hung thickly in the air. He was so tired, so very tired. He just wanted to crawl back into the warmth and safety of that little bottle and never come out. He just wanted to feel good in his body, just once more. Just once more._

_Spencer felt movement beside him, a hand fisted in his hair. Someone pulled his head up and shook him by his scalp until he opened his eyes. "Wake up boy." Charles Hankel growled in his ear. "We're gonna show you what we plan to do to him."_

_Spencer opened his eyes. He expected monitors and a video camera in front of him. But there was Morgan, stripped to the waist, badly beaten, tied down on a sturdy table. "I'm gonna show you what we have planned for your friend, boy." Hankel said. "Now pay attention." _

"_No!" Spencer said as Hankel moved toward the table, "NO!"_

Spencer jerked awake, just as another peanut bounced off his forehead. He almost overturned his chair in the process, but caught the conference table in time to save himself from landing on his ass.

"Wake up." Rossi told him. "We've got a case."

"I'm awake." Spencer blinked and rubbed his eyes. I should just stop wearing contacts, he thought, "Sorry, late night last night."

"Please tell me it had something to do with your date. Wait, look who I'm talking to." Rossi sat back with his coffee mug as they waited for Garcia. "So, going to share any more about her?"

It was far better to be talking about Elizabeth than to be thinking of his dreams, or anything else in his head for that matter. "Um, Dr. Elizabeth Baxter, has a BA in Philosophy, a MA in psychology, and a MA in something else, the first two from Harvard. She grew up in Atlanta, Georgia, she likes diner food and big band music, and she drives a 1947 Chevrolet pickup that belonged to her Grandfather. No living family except for a cat named Tiberius. "

"Tiberius?" Emily came in and sat down.

"She's a hard core Star Trek fan, James Tiberius Kirk."

"Do we know where she works?" Rossi asked.

"Um, no, she didn't want to tell me." Spencer rather wondered about that. "She said she didn't want to scare me off." When he saw his coworkers' looks he shook his head. "She's not a prostitute, I already asked."

"You need to find out though; it's kind of odd that she's not telling you." Rossi pointed out.

"She'll tell me when she's ready. I'm not going to rush this or anything." Spencer replied.

"All right, but if it goes on too long…"

"I know, I'll ask Garcia." Spencer sighed.

"All right my lovelies. Cast your eyes upon our latest round of creepy, nasty, and not pleasant." Garcia came in with case files, which she passed around the room before starting in. "Youngstown, Ohio, the buckle of the rust belt. This morning someone walking his dog found three bodies in an empty lot." Three pictures went up of young men, their bodies deeply emaciated, deep slashes made down their torsos. "No ID's yet, we're waiting on the coroner's report, yadda yadda. But please notice this." She switched to a different set of photographs. "These show that the victims all had small pentagrams on their foreheads, wrists and ankles."

"Are those scars?" Seaver asked.

"They look like brand marks." Spencer said as he took a better look at the pictures in the file. "They had to have been made considerably anti-mortem to have healed so well. Maybe gang members, killed by the other members of the group?"

"Too soon to tell," Rossi said. "What is it with us and Satanists these days?"

"Not a clue but I wish it would stop myself." Garcia said. "Anyway, the locals are scared and want our help."

"All right," Hotch said, "Wheels up in 30."

**Youngstown Police Station**

**Youngstown OH**

As soon as they landed and got set up Garcia was on the line. "Well, we have identified our victims; Kevin Nickleson, Brian Jarett, Mike Kincade, all nineteen, all students at Youngstown State." Pictures popped up on the screen of three healthy, muscular young men.

"Garcia, are you sure?" Hotch asked. The difference between the pictures she sent and the wasted, emaciated men was so striking that it was hard to tell.

"Yes, unfortunately. Kevin Nickleson volunteered at an elementary school as a basketball coach, he had to be fingerprinted. From there I looked at other missing cases from the college and ran facial recognition. It's them. They've each been missing for a month."

"It would take at least that long to turn those bodies into this." Morgan said. "Those boys were healthy when they went missing. How do you subdue three strong guys at once?"

"Where did they go missing, Garcia?" Emily asked.

"Local nightclub, they went out to see a concert and never came back, or so says Kevin's girl."

"Drugs, maybe," Emily suggested. "Spike the drinks; pick them up out of the parking lot."

"That would mean someone organized." Rossi pointed out, "Older, patient and looking for this type."

"Before you ask, there are more missing." Garcia said. "I already looked. Two more disappeared two weeks ago."

"And time's running out." Rossi said.

Hotch nodded. "Prentiss, take Seaver and go interview whoever knew our victims on the campus. Morgan, you and Reid go to the coroner, find out what's taking the report so long. Rossi, you and I will go to the dump site."

**Mahoning County Coroner's office**

**Youngstown OH**

"I've never seen anything like this." The coroner informed them.

Morgan and Spencer looked over the bodies. Each man was utterly wasted, all muscle mass gone, skin hanging, a shadow of themselves. On top of that, and the small brand marks, each one had what looked to be long, deep claw marks running down their torsos, as if they had been mauled by some large animal. And each had stab wounds, long and a few inches wide, but not deep, forming pockets under their skin, some straight through into the abdominal cavity but missing every organ, artery and vein. And there was more.

"Those look like restraint marks." Spencer said, pointing to the arms and legs of the victims. "They were tied down and fought until they broke skin."

"It didn't do them much good." Morgan said.

"Well, they must have been tied down the entire time." The coroner had them help roll one of the bodies, revealing horrific bedsores that went right down to the bone. "I didn't find any drugs in their systems. They would have been in a lot of pain from all that."

"Did the victims have these brand marks before they were taken?" Morgan asked.

Spencer checked the file. "No, it must have happened right after they were taken, to have healed so well."

"I don't know how they managed to make it so long." The coroner said. "Their stomachs and colons were completely empty. I did find these." She pointed out the track marks on their arms.

"But no drugs," Spencer mused. "Maybe the Unsub was keeping them alive with a glucose and electrolyte mixture."

"That would explain their condition." Morgan said. "They ate themselves from the inside out. Is that what killed them?"

"It would have eventually." The coroner said. "But they died from sepsis."

"From the bedsores?" Spencer asked.

"No, from these," she pointed to the shallow cuts that ran under the skin, the ones into the abdominal cavity. "I found ample evidence of oral and anal rape, but I also found traces of semen in these wounds. And it had to be left before death in order to trigger an immune response. Those longer slashes were made post-mortem, but just barely so"

"Excuse me?" Morgan looked shocked.

"Your bad guy was cutting them open and having intercourse with the open wounds."

"Damn," was all Morgan had to say.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

**Office of Elizabeth Baxter, PhD**

**Washington DC**

"First off, call me Bess. Lots of people do. You don't have to be all formal in here." Elizabeth led the young mother into her office, settled her in the small seating area in front of the desk. "You want me to hold him while you get settled?"

"Sure…Bess, um, do you know how to…?"

"Oh, I've held a lot of babies in my time." Elizabeth reached into the stroller and scooped the three month old Benjy Reynolds into her arms, holding him as if she'd done it for a million years or more. In a moment he was cradled against her chest, listening to her heartbeat, being gently patted and rocked until his fussing slowed and quieted. There, she thought, you just wanted some loving.

His mother, Nadine, looked on in wonder. "Boy, you do have a knack for babies." She sat and settled in the seat across from Elizabeth and pulled a book from her diaper bag. "Um, I wanted to ask you…my mother-in-law gave me this book, she said her pastor endorsed it highly. I was wondering if you had ever seen it."

Elizabeth didn't even look down. She recognized the cover as soon as Nadine came into the office. "What do you think about it?"

"I don't know." Nadine admitted. "It seems kind of cruel to me. But my mother-in-law swears that it's the only way to raise your children to be close to God."

"Let me ask you something. Could you be close to people who hit you?"

"No."

"Could you be close to people who starved you?"

"No."

"Could you be close to people who kept water from you, or who let you lie around in your own waste?"

"No."

"Then what makes you think God wants you to do those things to this perfect little thing in His name? Isn't that exactly what you're doing when you smack a baby for crying or let them cry it out at night rather than come get them?"

"Well, that's what I was thinking, but she said…"

"Matthew 18:6. "But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea." Many churches out there spend all their time in the Old Testament, and for some reason they completely ignore the New. Follow your instincts, Momma, they're there for a reason. I've got some books I'm gonna send home with you, you leave that piece of trash here with me."

"All right," Elizabeth watched as Nadine sat back and sighed. "I'm just so tired."

"Well, that happens when you have a newborn around the house. That's a whole 'nother issue. Let's go talk to Thelma and see what we can do to get you some help."

Once Nadine and Benjy were sent on their way with promises of help from some of the older, retired women in the community Elizabeth stopped at the office kitchen counter and fixed herself up a cup of tea. Then she headed back to her office and sat at her desk. That hateful book was square in the center, face down, with the authors photograph staring back up at her.

**Then**

**Thorn House**

**Atkins, AR**

"_Mommy! Please!"_

_Betsy Walker screeched for her mother as the lash came down. She didn't even know what she had done, she just wanted it to stop._

"_Hold still child! You are not finished. So help me you will deliver your will unto your father."_

"_My father's dead!" She screamed back at him, pain mixing with anger in her voice. "Mommy! Help me! Make him stop, please!"_

_She didn't know why she bothered. Her mother wouldn't come._

_The lash came down again, the pain sharper this time, and this time she felt her skin part and the hot blood begin to run and she screamed._

_Later that night she lay in bed sobbing silently. She couldn't even reach around to try to rub some on the ache out of her thighs. She didn't dare wake the five year old and three year old stepsisters that now shared her bed. He cut me, she thought, and I don't even have a bandage I can put there. Now I'm going to have scars. That monster marked me. _

_Slow, fat drops ran down her nose and into her pillow. I want to go home, God. I want to go home. I don't know where that is any more, but You do. If You can hear me, please, I want to go away from here. I want to go home._

**Now.**

**Office of Elizabeth Baxter, PhD**

**Washington DC**

"Bess? Bess? You gonna bless that tea or drink it?"

Elizabeth blinked when she realized someone was calling her name. She snapped back to the present and looked at the woman in the doorway. Thelma was old enough to be her mother, sturdy of body and spirit, kind and gentle of soul. "I'm here, Thelma." She murmured. "I'm fine." She sipped her tea, letting the strong taste in her mouth, the heat in her throat ground her back in this time and this place.

Thelma let the door close behind her. "You sure?" She asked, once they were in private.

"It's just a flashback, it happens. You know that."

"What set it off?"

"Nadine Reynolds' mother-in-law," she held up the book in front of her, and watched Thelma shake her head and sigh. "I know. It's what, the second this week?"

"Third," Thelma settled herself in the chair on the other side of the desk. "I swear Bess, sometimes I think Old Scratch is sending battalions of mothers-in-law just to knock you off your game as often as possible."

"Oh, they mean well. So do their pastors and the people in their churches. You know who it is who works for Old Scratch." She waved the book again before tossing it in to her 'to burn' pile. "He's going to have to work harder than that. I wonder what Spencer's gonna say when he catches me burning these."

"Let him read it first. If he doesn't strike the match he's not worthy of you." Thelma sighed and closed her eyes. "Do you really think they're going to make it, Bess? You know I worry about them every night."

Elizabeth got up, came around her desk, the better to perch on the edge of the coffee table and hold her hand. "I know hon. Your grandbabies will make it through. I did. And we just saved little Benjy Reynolds, that's something."

"That's something." Thelma agreed. "I just worry about them, you know. I've talked to Harry, I know what you've had to do to get this far."

"And they'll make it too, and we'll be here to help. I'll be here, I promise. We'll get them through." Elizabeth stood and pulled her sweater closer around here. "I'm gonna go next door for a few moments. If anyone comes calling…"

"You're next door and not to be disturbed, I know that. Are you sure you should be alone after one of those?"

"Oh honey, I haven't been alone in four years. I'll be fine."

Elizabeth smiled and headed down the short, connecting corridor to the building next door. Once there she climbed the two steps and sat, not in her usual spot, but one off to the side. She settled there, in the cool quiet, the soft scent of polish and wax and the rainbow of lights surrounding her.

Home.

She bent her head, and much as she had in her bed all those years ago she lifted her thoughts to the heavens. Dear Lord, thank you for helping me find my haven. Now what can I do for You today? In the silence of the building she listened.

_One more. Please read one more._

She acknowledged that stray bit of imagination, and went back to listening to her own breath and the greater silence around her.

_One more. _

She recited a quick prayer in her mind and once again tried to listen.

_Please read one more._

She chuckled. She simply couldn't keep her mind off a tall young man with kind eyes and a love of poetry. I wonder what he's up to, she thought, what does he do when he's gone so far away? I kinda wish he was here; I'd love for him to see this place. To be a part of this place somehow. I hope I can bring him here. I hope he doesn't run away. Sorry Lord, I'm a bit distracted I guess.

_One more_, he said. _Please read one more_. For some reason he sounded like he was aching inside.

Bring him home to me, she thought, and later wondered why. Please bring him home to me.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

**Youngstown Police Station**

**Youngstown OH**

"So, I think we just found a whole new category of rapist." Spencer said, after they finished telling the group what they had learned from the coroner.

"That's not a good thing, you know." Emily pointed out.

"Yes, but it's not that usual that something new shows up."

Emily gave up on that train of thought. "Do we have pictures of the missing men yet?"

"We just got them." Seaver said, as she started putting them up on the board.

"They must have been drugged." Morgan said. "These guys are athletes, some have self-defense training. They wouldn't go down without a fight."

There was something about those pictures, Spencer thought, something that caught his attention. There's a pattern here, somewhere, I just have to find….

"But they didn't find anything in their systems?' Rossi asked.

"No, it had been too long." Morgan replied. "Once the Unsub or Unsubs had them restrained they let the drugs wear off. We're definitely dealing with an organized sadist."

"One who's into his satanic imagery," Rossi said.

"_Now pay attention." _

Spencer blinked as that voice sounded right in his ear. He almost turned his head to look for the source. Great, he thought, am I really hearing voices or was that a memory? He looked at the pictures again and now the pattern fell into place.

They all looked like Morgan.

They were all big, alpha male types; athletic, well-trained, strong, and all taken apart at the seams by the time they died.

"_I'm gonna show you what we have planned for your friend, boy." _

"You do realize the Unsub is targeting alpha males, right"? Spencer asked them as his stomach twisted and knotted. "Excuse me." He headed for the rest room, locked himself in, and emptied his stomach. That's getting far too easy, he thought. Why do I bother to eat?

When he stepped out Morgan was standing there, leaning against the wall. "You need to stop that. You do not need to get any skinnier. We're gonna go talk this through over lunch."

"I'm, um, not that hungry." Spencer didn't think he could put food in his stomach right now, maybe ever.

"What did I just say? We'll get you some soup, come on."

Spencer followed Morgan back to the conference room, and then out of the station. He couldn't get the picture of Morgan lying on a table, ending up like one of the victims, out of his head. Maybe that was understandable, but the thought of his best friend in so much agony….

As soon as they stepped out of the station the light ripped through his eyeballs and hit his brain like a knife had entered his skull. "Oh damn it," he whimpered as he dug in his bag for his glasses.

Morgan sighed. They had to find a way to fix this. "Come on." He said, as he took the younger man by the shoulders and steered him toward the car.

* * *

He just needed to stop looking at the pictures for a few minutes, if only to make the headache go away. And he needed to talk to someone who wasn't a cop, if only to calm his stomach. Or so Spencer told himself when he went out to the back stoop of the police station and dialed. "Hi. I don't know if I should be calling you or not, but, do you have time to talk?"

"Hey you," Elizabeth said, her voice as sweet as honey. "Sure, I've got time, I'm just cooking dinner."

"What's for dinner?"

"Shepherd's pie."

"Where did you get it?"

She laughed. "I made it. I make my mashed potatoes with roasted garlic for the top."

"Wait, you can cook?"

"Mmm-hmm, nothing fancy, but I've been told I'm pretty decent at it. Wait until you taste my mac 'n' cheese."

"That…sounds wonderful, actually. I think we're doing Chinese take-out again."

"We?"

"I'm in Ohio. We're working a case."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Sorry? I called you."

"Sympathetic sorry," Elizabeth said. "It can't be easy, what you do."

"No." Spencer closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. "Luke 12:48 I guess. What did you do today?"

"Counseled a woman against abusing her children in the name of teaching them."

"Counseled?"

"I'm not a counselor per se, but counseling people is a big part of my job. At least I think it's one of the more important parts."

"What was she going to do?" Spencer asked, although he wasn't certain he wanted to know."

"Well, she's kinda young, not been married all that long, and this is her first baby. Her mother-in-law gave her a book she got from her pastor which offers advice on raising babies and small children. As far as I'm concerned it's all abusive techniques, so I talked her out of using it. I sent her off with Dr. Spock instead."

"The classics are the best." He agreed. "What does this book teach?"

"Honey, you're already on a case. Do you need to hear about more evil?"

"Is it that bad?"

She sighed. "Evil's not always big and bad like a serial killer. Sometimes it's as small as telling a mother she has to feed her baby on a schedule, even if he's crying from hunger, because God wants it that way."

"That can lead to failure-to-thrive syndrome." And if that sort of thing continues, ignoring a child's needs, treating him harshly, eventually an Unsub, he thought.

"I know. "

Now it was Spencer's turn to sigh. "We need to not talk about work."

"It's not always like that for me. Some parts of my job are beautiful. At least I think so."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she drawled. "I should warn you, I'm a ritual junkie. I'm horrible for tradition; I live for holidays for example."

He smiled. "Cool. We're going to have to do something big for Halloween," assuming this lasts until Halloween, he thought. I want it to.

"And Easter. And Christmas. And all the rest."

"Sounds perfect," Spencer paused a moment, felt his spine relax against the concrete wall behind him. "Did you bring that copy of John Donne home with you?"

"Yes, I did. Want me to read you one?"

"How did you know?" He asked, curious.

Emily stuck her head out the door. "Two more were just reported missing."

Spencer groaned, "Maybe later. I have to go"

"All right, good luck, darlin'. Good night"

"Good night"

Spencer followed Emily into the station, catching up with her. "How are you feeling?" she asked, gently curious instead of teasing this time.

Spencer considered this a moment. His headache was gone, his stomach was calm. He was even a little hungry, "Better than when I went out there."

"Good."

**Abandoned factory**

**Youngstown OH**

Another two missing men meant another point on the map. That meant a geographic profile. That led them to an abandoned factory. Per Morgan's ongoing request, he and Reid went this way while Hotch and Prentiss went that way and Rossi took Seaver in the way least likely to get her into trouble. It was a big complex, they had a lot of ground to cover and quietly, so the Unsub wouldn't kill the victims before they got there.

"Leave him alone you sonofabitch! You fucking bastard! Stop!"

Morgan and Reid entered one building and heard someone yelling, and screaming; one scream of pain that went on and on and one voice giggling in insane amusement. Morgan radioed the others to come to this building, and then they went in, hoping to stop whatever was being done to the victim.

What they saw when they came around the corner was beyond the stuff of nightmares.

The two newest victims were restrained to tables, still unconscious. One victim was awake, yelling at the Unsub to leave his friend alone, God damn it, please! And the fourth victim was the one howling in pain and terror.

The Unsub was naked, on top of the victim, straddling him between waist and groin. Spencer saw blood, an opening and what might have been a loop of intestine and then the Unsub…

"FBI! Don't Move!" Morgan called out.

The Unsub didn't stop. He continued manically thrusting his hips, giggling insanely as he brought himself to pleasure.

He obviously didn't have a weapon, so Morgan ran over and dragged him off the victim, holding him down and getting him in cuffs before turning him over. The Unsub looked at him, a manic light in his eyes. "You!"

"What?" Morgan asked.

"We've been waiting for you. Our Master wants your taste." With that he grinned, leaned over, and ran his tongue up Morgan's bare arm. "Now he can find you." Morgan instinctively recoiled, and the Unsub used that to nimbly leap to his feet. He ran pushing past Hotch and Emily, silent and driven, until he reached a balcony looking over the factory floor, five stories below.

And then he threw himself over the side.

Spencer hadn't moved. Since they came around the corner he'd been frozen in place, recording the horror into his mind for all eternity.

**Youngstown Police Station**

**Youngstown OH**

"You know that Unsub was crazy." Morgan said to Spencer as they were packing up.

"Definitely, a psychopath using satanic imagery to justify his crimes," Spencer replied, far too calmly.

"So what he said there at the end was meaningless. It was just his insanity manifesting itself."

"Right."

"Hey." Morgan waited until Spencer made eye contact. "I mean that. No one is coming to get me."

"I know."

"All right."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

**Gulfstream 5000**

**Northeastern Airspace**

**Morgan**

Morgan sat there through take off, watching Spencer who was sitting across from him. The kid was sitting there with a book in his lap, looking at the page. Morgan knew he wasn't actually reading. Anyone who knew him would know that he wasn't actually reading. The rest of the team had prudently retreated to the far end of the plane, knowing that while it had been horrifying to all of them, time would do them well, all except one.

And make that the rest of the team except Seaver. "Oh man." She moaned as she headed to the galley as soon as they leveled out. "I just want to go home and get a beer and a hot bath and forget this entire case ever happened."

"Seaver," Morgan said, very calmly.

"Yeah?"

"Go away."

"What?"

He jerked his thumb toward the back of the plane. Looking utterly confused she headed back that way. Thank God. With Seaver gone he was able to turn back to the primary problem. "You want to talk about it?"

"I'm fine." Spencer told him.

"You want to try that again?"

Spencer groaned and slumped down in his seat. "I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. That's one more thing in my mental file box that I never want to see again and I can't get rid of." He said. "That and I think I'm coming down with the flu."

No, that old injury is acting up, Morgan thought. Best way to describe it, this case irritated that old injury like hiking in the cold would irritate your knee. "When we get back I want you to go back to my place. Order pizza, and we'll do Charlie Chaplain tonight. I'll see if anyone wants to join us."

"You know, I have my own place."

"And are you going to be all right if you go there?" Or are you going to go find that dealer again, Morgan thought as he sat there, watching him, slow and easy.

A moment later Spencer's shoulders slumped even more, "No."

At least he's being honest, Morgan thought, that's something, "Any movies in town tonight?"

Spencer thought about that for a moment. "Right now the only movie in town is playing "Undercover Cop." They don't know when they're going to get a new feature in."

"Damn," in other words, Morgan thought, his sponsor is undercover until further notice.

"Besides, there are cop movies and then there are horror movies. You would think those would mix well, but they don't, not really. If I'm going back to your place where are you going to be?"

Why does he have to ask? "I need to go in and talk to Strauss. It's a routine investigation because the Unsub died after he was technically in custody."

Spencer hauled himself back up into a sitting position. "In that case I'm going in with you."

"You don't have to. You can talk to her tomorrow."

"And she could have all her decisions made by tomorrow and the next thing you know you're running the field office in Bismarck, North Dakota. Remember, she can't deny that I have the facts, and I saw the whole thing."

Morgan sighed. He didn't want the kid to have to relive this. But at the same time, he was right about his memory and Strauss. "All right, but I want you to do one thing for me."

"What?"

"Call that girl and ask her out on another date." At Spencer's confused look he shook his head. "Man, you need to relax just like the rest of us. I've seen how you look when you come back from seeing her, its good for you. If you want to come back and talk to Strauss right off I won't complain, but call your girl and go hang out with her tomorrow."

Spencer pulled out his phone and realized the time. "She's was at the hospital last night, she's probably still be in bed. I'll call her later. You know she's not exactly "my girl" yet."

Morgan grinned. "I have faith kid, I have faith."

**Rossi**

Rossi looked up as Seaver dropped into the seat across from him. He'd watched the entire performance from the end of the plane. "Did I do something wrong?" She asked him in a low voice.

"Do you know what eidetic memory is?" he asked her. If she's going to stay with the team it's time she realized a few things, he thought.

"Um, no, not really," she admitted.

"In this context eidetic memory is perfect, photographic recall. Most people with it claim that they can replay anything in their heads as if they were reliving it, or as if the information was rolling out on a movie screen in front of them, complete with all sensations, smell, sound, taste all of it, right down to the smallest detail. And they never forget any of it, ever."

"Is that even possible?"

"It's rare. There are five individuals currently in the US who have been both scientifically proven and certified by the courts to have that kind of a memory. As I understand it, four of them lead very quiet, academic lives."

"That's…interesting." She commented, clearly confused about how that fit this discussion, "What about the fifth?"

"He's sitting at the other end of this plane wishing like hell that he wasn't one of the first ones on scene today."

It took a moment, but Rossi saw the light of understanding come in to Seaver's eyes, "Oh…my…God."

Rossi nodded. "You might not want to brag about your ability to forget. It's not the most polite thing."

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

**Spencer**

"Can I use your office?" He'd asked Morgan, as he left the interrogation, no interview, with Strauss.

"Sure." Morgan said, as he went back in for the second time

Now Spencer was holed up in Morgan's office, occupying one chair in the minuscule sitting area, with the light off and the blinds closed. It was as dark and quiet as you could get in the office. The retreat to the womb imagery was not lost on Spencer, but he preferred to think of it as a less stimulating space.

I cannot keep doing this, he thought.

He curled himself into the tightest ball he could manage in that too small chair. Every time he shut his eyes he could catch the tang of blood and excrement and rotting flesh and sex heavy in the air, could hear the victim screaming and the Unsub laughing and that distinct squishing sound as he…

"_I'm gonna show you what we have planned for your friend, boy." _

I cannot keep doing this he thought. I want to stop aching all the time. I want to feel warm and safe and good for once. Hiding on Morgan's sofa is the closest I can get without drugs, and even there I can't get it all out of my head. And for all I know Morgan is being fired as we speak. Yes, I have to admit it, if only to myself, I really do want to get high right about now. Did I ever feel good before Tobias? Ever?

**Then**

**Reid House**

**Las Vegas NV.**

_Diana Reid leaned against the doorway and watched the restless way her son moved about the kitchen. "Spencer darling, what's wrong?" _

"_Nothing Mom."_

"_Now don't you nothing me, I can tell that something isn't right. Now what is it?"_

_Spencer stopped emptying the dishwasher and sighed in defeat. He knew better than to keep arguing. Even though his Mother had taken her pills today, it was still better than to argue. "I'm nervous about school tomorrow. What if none of the other kids like me?" _

"_Oh come on now, high school is going to be much better than grade school. The other students are going to be much closer to your maturity level." His mother smiled at him, then turned and tottered her way back to the bedroom. "Now come here, let me read to you a little. That will take your mind off your worries."_

_Spencer followed his mother to her room, abandoning the chores for hopping up on the bed, the better to curl up and listen. When Mom was reading to him nothing bad could ever happen. No one else was around, of course, and it meant she wasn't having one of her spells. Even back when Dad was around he would leave them alone with the books. He could close his eyes and imagine all sorts of wonders, Knights and fair ladies and times when maybe people like him and his Mom were accepted in the world. And the words were beautiful to listen to._

"_Now, what would you like to hear?" His mother asked as she looked over the books beside the bed._

"_Tristam." Spencer replied. A moment later his mother was pulling him into a warm, safe hug and opening the book._

"_My lords, if you would hear a high tale of love and of death, here is that of Tristan and Queen Iseult; how to their full joy, but to their sorrow also, they loved each other, and how at last they died of that love together upon one day; she by him and he by her."…_

**Now**

**BAU headquarters**

**Quantico VA**

Spencer looked at the clock, pulled out his phone, and dialed. "Hi. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Hey you," Elizabeth said. "I'm sharing a tuna sandwich with Tiberius and working on something for work tomorrow. Are you okay? You sound exhausted."

"I am." Spencer admitted. "This was a very rough case."

"I saw something in the paper, some guy in Ohio." She said. "I guess that was you?"

"Yeah, that was. I know…I know we've only been out a couple of times. I hope I'm not being too forward in calling you like this."

"Nope, I told you, I don't mind at all." She chuckled. "And besides, right now I could use the distraction. I 'm working on a case of writers block I do not need."

He chuckled. "The last time we talked you said you brought that copy of John Donne home?"

"And you wanted me to read you one."

"Am I asking too much? You know you have a gifted voice for that sort of thing."

"Flattery will get you one heck of a lot." She laughed and he heard papers being moved in the background, then she cleared her throat.

"I fix mine eye on thine, and there  
Pity my picture burning in thine eye ;  
My picture drown'd in a transparent tear,  
When I look lower I espy ;  
Hadst thou the wicked skill  
By pictures made and marr'd, to kill,  
How many ways mightst thou perform thy will?"

Spencer sighed silently as the world finally held still and he could no longer hear the screaming.

But now I've drunk thy sweet salt tears,  
And though thou pour more, I'll depart;  
My picture vanished, vanish all fears  
That I can be endamaged by that art;  
Though thou retain of me  
One picture more, yet that will be,  
Being in thine own heart, from all malice free."

You know, it's not flattery if it's true." He said. "Are you free tomorrow?"

She was silent for a moment. "No," Spencer noticed something oddly regretful had come into her voice. "I'm booked all day on Sundays. Monday?"

"Unless we're already on a case we ought to have it off. I'll take a sick day if I have to."

"Two-thirty all right?" Elizabeth asked.

"Sure. We could visit the other Air and Space."

"I'll meet you on the front steps."

"Deal," Spencer looked up as Morgan came into the office. "I have to go."

"See you Monday."

Spencer hung up as Morgan asked. "Got a date?"

"Monday afternoon." Spencer winced as the lights came on. "Everything go all right?"

"Yep, we're in the clear. We're going to go get some Italian food. Rossi's buying."

"I'm in."

* * *

Excerpt from _The Romance Of Tristan And Iseult_ by M. Joseph Bédier. Published in 1900 and no longer under copyright

Poem is _Witchcraft by a Picture_ by John Donne. Written prior to 1635 and no longer under copyright


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

**Northwest Community Church**

**Washington DC**

**Morgan**

The next day was Sunday. As he had ever since that case in Miami, on Sunday morning Morgan rousted Spencer from his bed on the couch, made breakfast, and dragged his young friend off to church. Not that Spencer ever did anything other than sit there, and not that Morgan expected him to do anything. But as far as Morgan was concerned he was going to keep an eye on Spencer until he knew he was healed over enough to be able to fight the cravings that would always be there. And so since he was going to church Spencer was going as well. Besides, couldn't hurt.

Now they were threading their way through traffic. At the light Morgan looked over to Spencer, who was sitting there with a frown on his face. "What?"

"How can you be busy all day Sunday and still go to church?" Spencer asked.

"What?"

"How can you be busy all day Sunday and still go to church?"

Morgan shrugged. "An early morning or late night Mass, maybe. Why are you asking?"

"Because Elizabeth said she goes to church every Sunday, and also that she works all day Sunday. I was trying to figure out how those two concepts co-existed."

"Maybe she goes on her lunch break. You know, you could try going with her sometime. Girls like that sort of thing. You still don't know what she does for a living?"

"No, but there's some kind of counseling work involved."

The light changed and Morgan was busy with traffic for a moment. "She's not trying to convert you or anything?" Because if she is, he thought, you might want to cut your losses.

"Actually no, she said specifically that she didn't expect that and wasn't going to try. Not that I'm not curious to see the denominational differences."

"Curious?"

"Given the amount of time I spent studying 15 and 16th century literature with my Mom I'm surprised that I've never actually studied the ecclesiastical world before. Church history and politics take up an enormous amount of human history."

"Right," thank God I cannot see the inside of his head, Morgan thought, talk about getting lost in there. "Well, it's something to do with your off time."

They turned the corner and came smack up against a barricade. Beyond that were a milling crowd, police cars, and most disturbingly, fire engines. Morgan found a place to park, perhaps the last place to park, and they got out. "Just wait here." He suggested, figuring whatever was going on didn't need two FBI agents sticking their noses in.

While Spencer leaned against the car and waited, Morgan threaded his way through the crowd. After less than a block it was easy to see what the problem was. The scent of the smoldering ruins of the church was heaving in the air as one of the fire trucks played water over the ashes to make certain they were out. There was literally nothing left but a skeleton.

Damn.

After sending one of the kids from the church back to fetch Spencer, Morgan spent the next several hours at Pastor Dean's side, helping him navigate the morass of fire investigators and police that were involved. They still didn't know if it was accidental or arson, but they were investigating.

Just damn.

**Spencer**

When that kid came Spencer had made his way through the crowd to see what was going on. But as the day wore on he found himself easing more and more to the back of it, more than a little unnerved by the level of emotion being shared by the people around him, by the community.

It's a community, he thought, a group of people brought together by a common goal. I'm a friend of one of the community members, but that's not enough to make me a part of it at all. I know what Morgan is doing, I know part of this is about regaining trust, but a part of it is about something else entirely. The thought was kind but I just don't fit. I'm still alone, even here, even now.

There was something cold in his hand.

He looked down at his phone. I know she's at work, but maybe. He punched in Elizabeth's number and waited. "Hello, you're reached Elizabeth Baxter, please leave a…" He hung up. A little stalking might be considered romantic, he thought, but one call is ample for that purpose.

Eventually he found himself on a bus bench, a ways back from the church. As the sun broke through the clouds he dug in his bag for his sunglasses. He was already getting a headache.

**Morgan**

When the whole thing was finally winding down Morgan found Spencer sitting on the bus bench, wearing his glasses, probably with his eyes closed against the sun. "Sorry about all this." Morgan said as he sat down beside his friend.

"Not a problem." Spencer replied. "Do they know what happened yet?"

"They think it might be arson, or vandalism gone wrong. If it becomes a problem around the city they'll call us, but if it was a one-shot then it stays with the locals."

"DC police are good." Spencer commented, his voice calm and even with the attempt to not aggravate the pain in his head. "So what happens now?"

"Well, a church is more than a building; it's the people who come together. They used to rent the auditorium at the school down the block before this place was built, they're going to see if they can go back to that until the insurance money comes through and they can rebuild."

There was a long pause and then Spencer said. "I keep waiting for Julio to call and say this was our fault somehow."

Now where the hell did that come from, Morgan thought, "What do you mean?"

"Loss of sanctuary."

Morgan considered this. "You know this was probably just kids. We need to stop with the horror movie crap."

"It's still easier to consider an external actor. Maybe we should profile Satan."

Morgan laughed. "I can think of much better ways to spend my time."

"Such as?" Spencer asked.

"Church history." That set them both laughing.

After that wound down Morgan looked at his watch. "I'm thinking early dinner. What time is your thing tomorrow?"

"Two-thirty."

"All right, I want to come back here and help go through the remains in the morning. You in?"

"Sure."

**Office of Elizabeth Baxter, PhD**

**Washington DC**

**Elizabeth**

"Hey, Bess, are you seeing this?"

This time of day on a Sunday Elizabeth had just enough time to wolf down a sandwich, or maybe a cup of soup, some kind of protein to balance out the fact that she had just tasted one of every kind of cookie on a fairly large buffet table full of them. She rather had to, everyone wanted to hear her praise their sweet goods to the sky. Luckily she had a sweet tooth, but the day was still hours away from being over, and she did not need to have her blood sugar crashing. She'd learned that the hard way.

So with chicken salad sandwich in hand she headed out to the reception desk, where Thelma had the small TV they kept for emergencies out and running. "What made you turn that on?"

"Marge Tuttle. She said that Northwest Community Church burned down this morning. It's all over the news." They watched in silence for a little while. "You know, it's kind of a distance but we could call them, offer them the hall in the mornings. So long as they're done by one, we'd still have ample time to set up for coffee."

"I doubt they would accept the offer." Elizabeth said. She could swear she saw a familiar, tall figure in the crowd just then. But he doesn't go to church so why would he be there? "But it's the right thing to do. I'll call their Pastor in the morning and talk to him."

"I thought you were going out with Spencer tomorrow." Thelma said.

Elizabeth pulled her phone from her pocket, noticed one missed call from him, but no message. Odd, she thought, maybe he is there. "Not until two-thirty." She turned to Thelma and smiled. "I have my priorities straight." At a hail from across the room she turned and walked off.

"That's what I'm afraid of." Thelma sighed.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

**National Air and Space Museum**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

It was strange, Spencer noted. He'd had a headache all bloody morning. Granted he had sucked it up and ignored it while he donned grubby clothes and gloves and helped Morgan and the other men at the church shift beams and try to find relics in the ashes and debris, but it was still there. Throughout the morning it had been a snug band around his head behind his eyes and behind his ears, tightening every time one of the other men came over and talked to Morgan instead of him. He'd felt rather invisible all morning, even though he knew he was doing good work. I am not a part of this, he'd kept realizing, over and over. But now, showered and dressed and walking from the Metro stop to the museum, that headache was already starting to ease. It was, in fact, a beautiful late winter day, cool and crisp with a tease of a promise of spring in the air.

He came around the corner and spotted a familiar figure sprawled on the steps, leaning back on her elbows, her face up to the winter sun. He came over and plopped down beside her. "Hello."

"Hello." Elizabeth said in that soft Southern drawl. "Sorry I missed your call yesterday, I had my phone off. I would have called you back but I didn't get home until nine and then I dropped into bed."

"That's all right. I'm not even sure why I was calling."

She looked over at him and frowned, "You all right? You look like you've been having a day already." She sat up and reached up and ever so gently brushed something off his forehead.

Spencer could have sworn the world stopped at that moment. That gentle, kind touch stole like a sweet heat through his veins. He caught her hand and held it at his temple, just for a moment, his eyes closing to better savor the sensation. "No, I'm, um, all right. I was helping a friend this morning. His, um, church…"

"…burned down," Elizabeth filled in.

Spencer opened his eyes and looked at her, letting go of her hand. "Yeah, how did you know?"

"You missed a spot. " She showed him her fingers, lightly smudged with black. "It was all over the news. I thought I saw you there."

"You probably did."

"Oh," He saw something wary and concerned pass behind her eyes, watched her take a deep breath. "Well, you want to go in?"

"Sure."

* * *

A few hours later they came back out. The winter sun was lower in the sky, the rays angling their way toward sundown. "Now what's bothering you?" Elizabeth asked him

Spencer sighed. Was his disappointment really so obvious? It was a trivial matter in the end, but still. "I wanted to see the moon rock. I can't believe they don't have any on display."

"Well, the sign said there were too many attempts at vandalism, so they had to take it down to protect it."

"Yes, but they could have at least put some on display under glass." Spencer grumbled as they started walking toward the parking lot and her truck. "I just can't believe that humanity has actually left this planet and gone to what amounts to another world, and there's no physical proof anywhere on display. It's just not right."

"Yes there is." She said.

"Where?"

"At the National Cathedral."

"Where?"

"At the National Cathedral."

"We have a National Cathedral?" How have I not heard of this before, Spencer wondered?

"Yes, you've never been?"

"No."

"Well, come on then." As they walked toward the parking lot with more intent Elizabeth happened to look down at her watch. Then she stopped.

"What?" He asked her.

She sighed. "Look, there's no help for it. Either you're going to freak out on me or not, but at least I can show you something beautiful first. Come on." She started heading towards her truck again.

Now utterly confused and curious, Spencer could only follow along.

**National Cathedral**

**Washington DC**

"Wow," was all Spencer could say as he looked up at the edifice before him.

"It was started in 1907, designed in the Gothic style. It's the fourth tallest building in the city." Elizabeth supplied helpfully as they looked up at the building. "Technically the top of the tower up there is the highest point in Washington, because we're up on a hill. The view is amazing."

Spencer blinked and looked over at her. "You've been?"

She grinned at him. "I snuck up there once."

"I'd love to see the inside." He said. "I always wanted to visit some of the great cathedrals of Europe, I just never knew we had one here." And I doubt I'll get to Europe anytime soon, he thought, paying for Bennington is more important. He headed up to the top of the stairs, but stopped at the door. "We'll have to come back, it's closed already."

When he turned back to Elizabeth she had gone very quiet and very still. After a moment her eyes opened and she smiled. "Come here." She said, reaching for his hand.

Hand in hand she led him around to a small side door off the parking area. It looked to lead to a small wing of offices off of the main building. Elizabeth led him right up to it and started punching in the code to unlock the door. "What are you doing?" He asked in utter surprise.

"Letting us in," she replied. "They only close early on Monday to clean the floors. We'll be out of their way well before they start."

"What?" But the door was open and she was pulling him through, closing it firmly behind them. "You have a key code for the National Cathedral?"

She nodded and tugged him along. Down a small hallway, past several offices, all doors thankfully closed, and then to a small, dark stairway at the back. We are so going to get busted, Spencer thought, we are not supposed to be here and we're going to get caught and that is going to be just the excuse Strauss needs to fire me. What the living hell am I doing here?

And then they stepped into the main nave and it utterly took his breath away.

She let him stand there and just look, taking in the beauty of the architecture, the windows, all of it for a long moment. "It's not perfect, you know." She said in a quiet voice that seemed to echo through the empty space. "There are a number of intentional flaws in symmetry, designed to call attention to some of the more sacred points in the structure. In addition, it's slightly off its axis in regards to the point where the main aisle meets the transept. If it wasn't, there would be a visual distortion that would make the main aisle look much shorter than it really is."

Spencer tried to shake off the wonder he felt looking around the space, the sense of peace there. This is right, he thought. Well, not entirely, but it's a lot closer. "It's beautiful." He told her.

"Come here." She said, smiling as she took his hand again. "There are over two hundred stained glass windows, all done in the traditional Gothic style, although they reflect American history, not traditional ecclesiastic themes. That one is the life of Robert E. Lee, for example." She said, pointing. "And that is Stonewall Jackson. And that is Andrew Carnegie. But this is the one I wanted you to see."

They stopped in front of one of the windows. Unlike the others it was done in a modern style, geometric shapes and circles within circles, all in blues and dark purples and blacks. And scattered over the entire thing were clear, asymmetrical points. "Space," Spencer realized after a moment, "Orbits and planets and stars."

"Yes, it was commissioned to memorialize the Moon landing. See that dark spot, in the light blue ring in the center of the big, red circle." When Spencer nodded she continued. "That's a moon rock. It was brought back by the crew of Apollo 11 and donated for the window." She looked around the space. "It always amazed me, that right here, in the middle of all this history, the religion and the architecture and the history of this country, right here there's a little piece of another world."

Spencer just stood there, awed by the pattern of light shifting through the glass, by the idea that yes, there was a bit of another world, proof of mankind's reach for all eternity. Its poetry, he thought, made manifest, made physical in a way I never considered possible. I've heard of such places, daydreamed about them, but I never thought I would be in one. I never want to leave. But then there was a clank from further down the nave, a slapping sound, someone calling to someone else. He turned and saw a custodial crew hauling out some large buffing machines. Of course, he thought; when you make poetry manifest you have to clean the floors.

Elizabeth reached out and tugged on his sleeve. "We'd better get out of their way."

* * *

"Tell me we can come back during the day time." He said as they made their way around the building again. The sun had finally dropped and so it was getting colder and the lights were coming on. "I want to explore a little more, do you think they would mind?"

"Not at all, they offer tours, if you like, or you can just poke about. I've got the guide book memorized by now."

"How do you know so much about this place? And, wait a minute." Now it was his turn to tug on her hand and stop her. "How did you get the key code?"

She took a deep breath and started walking again. "I used to work here. My friend Harry still does, I have dinner with him every Wednesday. Not like that." She said, responding to the sudden fear that must have crept into his expression. "He was my theses advisor back at Harvard and has been helping me with my career. He's had the same partner for over twenty years; I try to have dinner with them on Sundays if I can get free early enough."

"Your theses advisor," her mentor, he thought, like Gideon. Oh. "We're you his research assistant or…"

"I was an associate pastor."

She was a…Spencer stopped as the implications of that worked themselves out in his mind. "What?"

Elizabeth turned and looked straight at him. "I'm a priest."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

**Eddie's Diner**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

They decided it was better to hold off on the discussion until they had access to food. The decision of where to go was easy. Once they placed their order Spencer decided to confront the issue directly. "You're a priest?"

"Yep." Elizabeth admitted, clearly over the hump of her fear of telling him. "My other degree is a Masters in Divinity from the Episcopal Divinity School in Cambridge. I took Holy Orders four years ago."

The questions were colliding in Spencer's brain so hard that he was, for once, having trouble sorting them out. "Why?" Was the basis for most of them.

"I told you, I have faith. I wanted to help the Holy Spirit in its work, and I decided this was the best way to do it. Holding the office gives me the chance to live up to my experience and education and balances out my age. Think about it, would you be able to help as many people as you do if you didn't have a badge?"

Spencer thought about that. Borrowing external authority until you get old enough to carry your own, he could understand that. "No. And that's one of the reasons why Gideon talked me into join the FBI, once I was old enough. So…um…" He couldn't decide to be fascinated or disappointed or oddly…relieved. "What exactly do you do?"

"I'm the rector over at St. Martin's in Woodley Park. I say Mass most every day, organize the volunteer work, do a lot of counseling, marry and bury people, try to raise money and keep the books balanced." She sighed and rested her head on her hand. "I really do love the work, I have to admit that."

"And you're really not interested in converting me?" Spencer wanted to be quite sure on that one.

"Nope. I've never been much for proselytizing. I'd rather lead by example." She sighed and looked passed the milkshakes as they landed on the table. "Are you freaking out on me?"

Spencer considered this. It was a job. It was the kind of job that could take over your whole life, but still a job. But then, he could say the same about being a profiler. And he felt too good around her, and was too curious still, and…"I don't think so. I don't know why you didn't tell me sooner."

"Why didn't you tell me you were an FBI agent right off?"

"I didn't want to intimidate you…oh." Well that made sense, he thought. "Aren't you supposed to, um, dress like a priest?"

"Do you wear your badge on your belt all the time?" She asked and then sighed. "Watch this." He watched her button her collar to the top button on her pale blue shirt, noting the same slightly off construction that he'd spotted before. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a strip of either white plastic or highly stiffened fabric. She slipped it into the collar somehow, fastening something underneath and the straightened the whole thing by feel. When she took her hands away she had a Roman style collar in place, the white strip forming a neat rectangle at the center.

Spencer looked it over. "That actually suits you." He said. It had an old-fashioned feel to it that just seemed right on her.

"Thank you, that's good to know." She replied. "I should probably wear the all around white one, but I just don't look right in that version. And it's not like anyone is gonna mistake me for a Catholic."

Just then the waitress brought their burgers, fries and onion rings to the table. "Oh! Reverend Bess, I didn't recognize you."

"That's all right." Elizabeth drawled at her. "I was going incognito."

"Oh. Well, all right." Now the waitress was looking at him with a curious expression. "Can I get you anything else?"

"No, thank you." When the waitress moved off Elizabeth looked back at him, the desire to laugh clear in her eyes. "I think we're about to be the talk of the kitchen."

"I think you're right." Spencer said as he read the waitress's body language. She was curious and perhaps a little concerned, although he was no kind of threat. "I don't understand why though."

"Have you ever seen a priest on a date?"

"I didn't even know priests could date."

"There you go." She looked at him a minute more, clearly trying to hold in the giggles. "Don't you dare laugh. I have to live up to the collar. I can't laugh at this situation."

Ah, now that made sense. "Live up to the maturity of the degree and the position."

"Exactly, SSA Dr. Reid. As much as I love my job and wouldn't change it, I do like to take some time off now and again."

Which led him to another question. "So is it actually Dr. Baxter or Reverend Baxter or…?"

"Technically it's the Reverend Dr. Elizabeth Baxter, but that's a mouthful. Most people call me Reverend Bess, or just Bess."

"I don't know why. Elizabeth suits you." Her name was old-fashioned as well, he thought. There was something about that. Spencer shrugged. "But then most people call me Reid."

"When you have a perfectly good first name too." She said.

"Which no one ever uses anymore. My mentor, Gideon, used to call me Spencer, and JJ used to call me Spence, but no one else. I never realized that." It's nice to have someone actually use my name on occasion. It's nice to be thought of as a person, not a computer.

"JJ?"

"A friend. I used to work with her. I'm her son's godfather." Belatedly he realized that there might be a concern there. "She's with her son's father, um…" How did you explain cohabitation to a priest?

"Partners?" When he nodded she continued. "Well, if it's all right with you I'll keep calling you Spencer."

"And I think I'll stick with Elizabeth."

"So you're not going to bolt and run on me?" She asked.

"No." He said, finally. No, I'm not. This doesn't bother me. "But I have a few questions."

"Ask away."

* * *

"Now if it was up to me I'd stick with The Jefferson Bible, or something similar." Elizabeth said as they exited the diner, having enjoyed a meal of burgers, fries, and milkshakes, as well as questions of theology, philosophy and church politics. "Stick with the red letter sections, the morality and philosophy of Christ, and maybe some of the poetry, and relegate the rest to history. But in church and for mass we use the King James."

"Which is the most lyrical text, if not necessarily the most accurate." He pointed out. "The Jefferson Bible?'

"Thomas Jefferson finally took a razor to his bible collection, and reassembled one to suit what he considered the important part of the Bible. It had the philosophy taught by Chris but omitted any question of His deity, Jefferson considered that too distracting. It also eliminated the Old Testament and the Acts and Epistles of the Apostles, and combined all four Gospels in a chronological narrative. He called it _The Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth._ As far as I'm concerned he was on to something. "

"I may have to read a copy of that. Wait, do you actually say mass?"

She nodded. "Yep. Low mass every day except Wednesday at 12:30, then on Sundays we do Low mass at 8:30, High mass at 12:30, and a Low mass at 3 for the kids. Some of the kids have a band, I let them have at with the music. One of them is doing some amazing arraignments of the old hymns. I also do Matins at 8 am every day except Sunday, Monday and Wednesday. Our Deacon, Mr. Johnson, takes over Monday and Wednesday so I can have some time off. Granted Mondays I just sleep in."

"What's the difference between a High mass and a Low mass?"

"Technically it's a Missa Cantata, where the priest sings some of the parts in the style of the Gregorian chant, and where he's assisted by at least one Deacon. Not that I'm all that great at chanting, I really don't have the voice for it."

"You don't have the voice for it?" He could spend the rest of his life listening to her just talk, let alone read poetry, and she didn't have the voice for something?

She laughed. "You might like my reading poetry, but trust me, you cannot drawl a Gregorian chant, it does not work well."

"I'd like to hear you chant." I think I might like to hear that very much, he realized.

"Well, come by on a Sunday." They reached her truck, at which point she sat on the back bumper. "So, are we going to do this again?"

"I'd like to." He admitted. He sat next to her, leaning a bit to fit to her height. "You said you have Wednesdays off? Granted I'm probably going to be off on another case by then."

"If you're in town. I think Harry would understand if I missed dinner for once." She looked up at him.

Something odd and heavy and portentous seemed to grow in the air around them. For a long moment he couldn't think, or breathe, he just kept gazing into her eyes. After a long moment she broke the fog by reaching up and crushing a curl off his forehead. The gesture was as entrancing as it had been earlier in the day, a soft heat that eased outward, calming and easing every fear. He caught her hand and held it there a moment, not wanting the contact to end.

But it had to, of course. Eventually she had to get up, and he had to let go. "Come on. I'll drive you home."


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

**Derek Morgan's apartment**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

When Morgan came in from what turned out to be a slightly less than pleasant evening he found Spencer on the couch, his arm covering his eyes from the admittedly dim light. "Hey, how was your date?" Morgan asked hm.

"Great. I had a good time." Spencer's voice was flat, heavy. "How was yours?"

"It would have been better if she was having it with me and not her cell phone." Morgan pulled off his jacket and looked down at his friend. "Yeah, you sound like you had a good time. Want to tell me about it?"

"Not really?"

"So when are you two going out again?"

Spencer had yet to actually move. "We're not."

Morgan had been hanging up said jacket, now he came back around to give this problem his full attention. "Excuse me? What happened, did she break up with you?"

"No. I just…" Even with his arm in the way Morgan could see Spencer's face screwing up. "I like her, all right. She's…perfect and I think… I don't…she deserves someone better. There's no point in dragging this on any further."

Well, this was more serious than he had thought. Morgan got himself a beer and sat in the chair near to the couch. "She deserves someone better. You think you're not good enough for her?"

"I'm not!' Morgan forced himself to stay still as Spencer got up and started yelling. "She smart, she's funny, she's beautiful, and she's devoted her life to helping others. She deserves someone as good as she is!"

This is anger, Morgan realized, I don't know what he's angry at, but it's better than a flat nothing. "And what do you think you are?"

"A human computer who has to buy his emotions in a bottle! A freak and an addict who's probably going to be locked in an asylum for the rest of his life!"

Morgan kept himself calm, cool, even though he had a deep desire to go rip down some walls somewhere. "When you look at yourself is that what you see?"

"That's the part that matters."

Morgan took another sip of his beer and got up. He went to his bag and pulled out his laptop, bringing it over to the coffee table. "Have you looked up C-PTSD yet?"

Spencer looked at the laptop as if it might bite. "No. What does that have to do with this?"

"Look it up, Doctor. I have." With that he moved to the kitchen to let Clooney in and get something to eat.

For the next few moments Morgan took his time making coffee, puttering, getting things ready for the next call out. He heard the sound of typing, quiet, more typing, pacing, more typing, more pacing. Eventually he heard the utterly familiar sound of someone attempting to shove their fist through a wall. "Ow!"

Morgan chuckled as he heard Spencer reciting curses in what sounded like German. He came back in the living room with his beer and some overly sweet coffee to find his wall barely smudged and Spencer cradling his knuckles. "If you're going to try to take out a wall, try a non-load bearing interior wall first."

Spencer stood there, shaking his head. No, just shaking. "This is not fair." He said, far too quietly.

Morgan was quiet. "No, it's not." I have to agree with him, he thought, none of this is fair.

"I don't know what to do. Intellectually I can see that you're right, I'm displaying over 90% of the symptoms, but I don't know what to do."

Now we might be getting somewhere, Morgan thought. "Ask yourself one question, do you want them to win?"

"Do I want who to win?"

"Any of them. All of them. Everyone from your dad to those high school bastards to Hankle. Or Strauss. Man, you're not even thirty yet, you have a lot of life left to go, do you want them to win for the rest of it?" One step man, Morgan thought, come on, you know this.

"I…I d…" Morgan watched as Spencer literally dug that kind of deep to find it, but find it he did. "No."

"All right then." Morgan handed Spencer his coffee and lifted his beer in a toast to mark the occasion.

"So now what do I do?" Spencer asked, once the coffee had been sampled.

"I don't know." Morgan said, then caught himself when he saw his friend's face all. "I know where I would start, but I don't know if it would work for you."

"Whatever it is, it's probably worth a try."

"Okay. Did your doctor clear you to return to full duty?"

"Which one?" Spencer asked.

"The one for you knee."

"Yeah, why?"

"'Cause tomorrow we're going to get up and go running."

"What?"

"Man, you told Seaver that you got wavers for everything physical in the Acadamy. Is that true?"

"I can't do that sort of thing. I'm not that…physically capable."

"Did you try?"

"No. I…I can't do that sort of thing. You know that. Everyone knows that."

"I don't know that." Morgan took a sip of his beer. "I've watched you in extreme conditions for a good six years now, I think you'd be perfectly capable of passing every Academy test. All you need is some training."

"No, Morgan." Spencer's eyes widened in disbelief. "Everyone knows I can't do that."

"Everyone knows, huh? Who told you that?"

"Everyone." Morgan waited, patiently for Spencer to clarify. "My dad, my mom, the kids and teachers at school. There's no point in trying."

Morgan gestured to the laptop. "Do I need to look up the definition of 'learned helplessness' for you?"

For a long moment Morgan could see the wheels turning in Spencer's head as his intellect finally hooked back up with his emotions, even if only at one small point. Eventually he looked back down at his coffee. "So, what time are we going?" he asked.

"Early. And then you're going to make two phone calls. First you're going to call that girl and make your next date."

He watched Spencer start to crumble. "Morgan, I…"

"Hey. Stop that. That's not your call to make. All you have to do is tell her the absolute truth, no worse, no better. After that it's her call. And do not tell me you don't want to see her again."

Morgan watched a small smile finally appear on his friend's face. "Yes, I want to see her again."

"Good. Besides, "Morgan grinned, hoping this would at least get Spencer to crack a smile. "Remember what Julio said. Maybe God is setting you two up so she can help you beat the Devil." Morgan had hoped for a smile but not the falling over belly laugh he got. "What."

"She's a priest."

Surely he had not heard that right. "What?"

"She's a priest. Anglican. She's the rector over at St. Martin's in Woodley Park."

It took a few for Morgan's head to wrap around that. "Oh, you are not serious." At Spencer's nod he finally had to accept that. Maybe this match was made in heaven. "Well, all right. You know you're not going to live this one down."

"I guessed that. What's the other call?"

This was going to be the tough one. Mentally Morgan crossed his fingers. "Call Dr. Messer and make an appointment."

He was right, that was clearly not something the kid wanted to face yet. "I don't know. I don't want this to…I don't want the Bureau to be involved."

Morgan shook his head. "Stop that. Start telling the truth about what you're thinking. Now what were you going to say?"

"I don't want Strauss to know." Spencer sighed. "I don't want my failings to be an excuse to go after you or Hotch."

"First off, you're not failing. This is an old injury that never got treated, all right, and that's how we're going to keep looking at it. Now, you're right, it's not Strauss' business. But I don't think Dr. Messer is the kind to let that slip, she impressed Garcia and that is not easy to do."

Morgan watched Spencer a long moment. He could almost see the wheels turning up there, watched him wrap his arms around his middle, a classic self nurturing gesture. "I still don't know. She asked a lot of questions last time, and…"

Nope, Morgan thought, that's one step too far. "All right. But start thinking about it at least." When Spencer nodded his agreement he got up. "Now get to sleep, I'm going to be getting you up early."

"After a cup of coffee?"

Morgan grinned at him. "It's decaf."

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

Emily stopped and stared as Morgan and Spencer came into the office the next morning. Morgan looked happy and glowing, as he did after one of his morning workouts. Spencer, on the other hand…"Hey, what happened to him?"

"I took him running this morning." Morgan said, turning to watch Spencer slowly creep through the lobby.

"I didn't know he could run." Emily commented.

"Neither did he. I think his body is still in shock." Morgan turned to Spencer, who was clearly still trying to process the sensations, noted the color in his face, the clarity in his eyes. "This is how it feels when you run your body on oxygen like the rest of humanity, instead of coffee and sugar."

"This actually feels strangely good." Spencer said. "I think my head is working faster."

"Well go sit down and let it pass Mr. Wizard." Morgan had to tease him. "Then you can finish your master plan to take over the world."


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

**Whole Foods Market**

**Georgetown**

**Washington DC**

**Elizabeth**

Wednesday, being a day off, meant errands. Elizabeth stopped at Whole Foods for lunch and groceries, and was just finishing off her list when her phone rang. It was Nannette Bryson RN, not at all who she expected. "Hello Nanny, how's you?"

"I've been better," answered the woman on the other end in a similar soft drawl. "We've got two coming in tonight. The boys just picked them up down in Norton."

Norton was the usual state line crossing; it was about six hours away. Given that it was 3 o'clock now she could still have dinner with Harry and then be at the safe house in ample time. "Pick me up at 8; we'll get them dinner on the way."

"Thank you hun, you don't know how much it means."

Nannette rang off and Elizabeth put her phone back in her bag. Yeah, I do know how much it means. Well, they'll need protein, and the boys are carnivores, she thought, so we'll probably get them chicken. She sighed and turned her basket back into the store, to add a few more items to the pile.

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico VA**

**Morgan**

"Good morning my Lady," Morgan said as he strode into Garcia's lair and carefully shut the door behind him. "Can you do me a favor?" he asked, making the cut out the recorders gesture.

"I'll show you a good morning." Garcia sang out before cutting out the tapes. "What can I do you for?"

"I think it's time we have a look at Reid's new girl. I want you to run a background check, just between us, if you would, please."

"I thought he didn't want us to look into her background?"

"He doesn't. But he's getting attached and I think he might be just starting to get better. I don't want one to screw up the other. So I just want to make sure she's on the up-and-up."

"Getting attached, huh? Awww," Garcia turned and grinned at him. "You know you're really cute when you're playing the overprotective big brother. Okay, who am I looking up?"

Morgan chuckled. "Elizabeth Baxter."

"Do we know where she works?"

"She's the rector over at St. Martin's in Woodley Park, she went to Harvard, and she volunteers at Georgetown medical on Friday nights."

"Oh, that makes it easy. Rector, what is a….?" The first thing Garcia found was the church website. And there was Elizabeth on the staff page, right down to the Roman collar. "Oh!…My!…God!…"

"Yeah, no kidding," Reid had told him, but he hadn't really believed it until he saw it. Even now, it was still hard to take in.

"Reid is dating a minister! Are you serious?"

"And you can't say anything until he tells you. Remember, this is secret, nosy."

"Oh God, this is going to kill me." While Garcia spoke pages were flashing up onto her screens. "Well, this is…hmmm…"

That was a hmmm. Morgan had not expected a hmmm. "What is it?"

Just then her phone rang. She saw the number and put it on speaker. "Yes, my liege?"

It was Hotch. "Have you seen Morgan, it's time for the briefing."

"He's here with me, we're on our way."

"Thank you." Hotch clicked off.

Morgan had been reading over her shoulder, transcripts from Harvard. She looked nearly as bad as Reid. "So, what's with the hmmm?"

"You know, I'm not sure. Let me look into it some more and get back to you. In the meantime…" She picked up a stack of files. "…you guys are off to LA."

**Bleeker Farm**

**Outside Hume, VA**

**Elizabeth**

The nice thing about Nanny's big SUV, Elizabeth thought, is that it's comfortable in this kind of weather. I'd get one myself for this, but I wouldn't use it for anything else, and people would talk.

The two women pulled up outside the old farmhouse. Elizabeth grabbed the bag she had brought, as well as the bags full of fried chicken dinners. Nanny brought her go bag full of whatever she might need to treat the injuries they expected. As they went around to the kitchen door they passed a second SUV, more battered and more nondescript, as well as the man crouching behind it. "Two wrongs don't make a right you know." Elizabeth said to him.

"Yeah, but three rights make a u-turn. " Daniel Marks finished changing out the license plate and stood to his full height of over six foot. "Glad you're here, Reverend."

"When are you going to stop being so formal with me?" She asked him. Danny carried the flat twang of Oklahoma, still, and was carrying an impressive amount of muscle under his insulated work clothes. There had been a time when she might have let him break her heart, but then she realized that while Danny was a good boy with a big heart, he had never made it out of high school, and he couldn't carry on any sort of a conversation. That was truly something she loved about Spencer, they could talk for hours and she would never leave him behind her. That was the kind of thing that lasted a lifetime.

Of course the other problem with Danny is that he only had eyes for his lover, Sam. That sort of thing was impossible to overcome. "Probably never," he admitted. "They're upstairs. Sam's in the kitchen. We told them we were brothers."

That was the usual lie. "How bad is it?" She asked as they started walking to the house.

"I'm glad Nanny's here. One of them got lit into last night. She had to lie on the backseat the entire way here."

Once inside she shed her winter things, left the boys with their supper and headed upstairs. Nanny was already up there, in the master bedroom, talking softly. She knocked lightly on the door, and entered.

Inside the master bedroom, two young girls were sitting on the bed, or more correctly, one was huddled in the other's lap. They wore their hair down to their waists, and matching jumpers and high-necked blouses and veils over their heads. Some in the city might have confused them for Mennonite, but she and Nanny knew better. "Hey," Elizabeth said quietly, emphasizing her accent a little. "How y'all doing?"

"We're all right, I guess," said the one sitting up. Her sister was quietly sobbing, still.

Elizabeth pulled up a chair and sat, staying out of Nanny's way as she set up on the old dresser. She carefully smoothed her ankle-length skirt under her, and resisted the urge to scratch behind the tab of her Roman collar. Three years, she thought, and you'd think I'd have a callus there by now. "So what's your name's anyway, and how old are you?"

"I'm Rebecca, and I'm seventeen," said the one sitting up. "This is my sister, Ruth, she's nineteen."

"Nice to meet you Rebecca; most people call me Reverend Bess these days."

Rebecca put an eyebrow up, "You really a Reverend?"

"Yep, went to Divinity school and everything."

"What do you mean, these days?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath. "People used to know me as Betsy Thorne."

Rebecca's eyes went wide, and Ruth even turned her head and looked, "Really? Wow, you're kinda famous."

Elizabeth chuckled dryly. "I think infamous is more the correct term. Now we're gonna pray together, and then I've got chicken downstairs for you, as much as you want. Then we're gonna tell you what happens next. But first we need to let Nurse Nanny here have a look at your sister. Can you help us with that?"

Rebecca nodded and together they started gently peeling the clothing and makeshift bandages from her sister's battered, bloody body.

**Gulfstream 5000**

**Southwestern US airspace.**

**Morgan**

When everyone was busy studying the files on the upcoming case Morgan took the opportunity to step into the galley and shut the door for a moment's privacy. "Hey baby girl," he said into the phone. "Before we get too deep into this, what did you find on that other project?"

"Well, she entered Harvard at 14, got her PhD in Philosophy at 18, entered the Episcopal Divinity School that same year, graduated from that at 21, and then took holy orders in the Episcopal church, a meteoric academic career to anyone who never met Reid. She spent six months at Christ's Chapel in Cambridge Mass. as an associate pastor under supervision, which looks to be where they send all their new graduates and during which time she completed her Master's in Psychology. She spent another six months as an associate pastor under supervision at the National Cathedral which is kind of unusual, then was assigned as the Rector at St. Martin's where she's been ever since."

"Okay, so what was the hmmm about?"

"Well, the first thing that jumped out at me is that a condition for her to start her field work in her last year at the Divinity school was weekly psychiatric counseling, which continued as a requirement once she took holy orders, and is still in place."

Morgan considered this. They must have considered it important if they put the requirement in her file. And most clergy at that level were cross trained as counselors, so they knew things to look for. "Is there a diagnosis anywhere?"

"Not yet, I'm still looking. I also went looking back past college, to see if anything stood out and that was the problem, nothing stood out."

"You lost me there."

"Well, her parents died when she was twelve and fourteen and her grandmother was listed as he guardian in college, but other than that there is nothing. The thing is, it's almost too clean. Her background is like, sanitized."

"You ever see that before?"

"Yeah. Jack and Katie Vaughn."

"Who?"

"You guys did a case out in Chula Vista once, that guy and his daughter, where he shot the guy in front of Reid."

Morgan felt his heart sink into his stomach, "The guy in the Witness Protection program."

"That's the one. This has Marshall's Service written all over it."

"Damn."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

**Morgan**

All in all it wasn't a bad case, Morgan thought. They got the guy, they saved the girl, and the kid didn't have to add anything to his mental freak-out file. Granted there was the cabinet full of candles made of human fat, but that was the sort of thing Reid seemed to process all right. It was the science aspect, Morgan realized, it allowed him to use his intellect to dampen his emotions. That or he just enjoyed it; they practically had to pull him out of the Unsubs lab.

"Hey, do you want to go to the movies tonight?" Spencer asked, sticking his head in the door. "They're showing _Solaris_ downtown, it's the best five-hour meditation sci-fi move ever made. Granted it's in Russian…"

"Five hours of Russian science fiction. You know, I think I'll pass." At this point he ought to suggest that Reid take his girl, but until he and Garcia and maybe Rossi had a chance to figure out what the hell landed her in with the Marshalls he was going to back off. Just in case. "What time does it start?"

"Nine. I was going to take Elizabeth but its Friday; she's already on shift at the hospital."

"Well, if you're going to be out until two in the morning I'm going to have a date." Ah, brilliant idea time. "Call Prentiss, see if she wants to go; she speaks Russian."

"Hm, good idea, thanks." Spencer headed for the kitchen, pulling out his phone.

"But don't tell her I told you." Morgan called after him. Two birds with one stone, Morgan thought; now I have to sort what's what.

Once Spencer headed out he got up and headed next door to Rossi's office. As he suspected, the older man was still there, finishing up some paperwork. "So where are we starting, Prentiss or Reid?" He asked.

Morgan sat across the desk. "I got nothing on Prentiss. I asked her what was going on, she said because she liked me she wanted me to back off."

"I don't know either, but there's something there. We need to keep an eye on that. Okay, what about Reid?"

"Other than looking forward to five hours of Russian Sci-fi? He's doing better. Granted he's still on my couch, he's still having nightmares, and you can see him freak out every time Strauss walks through the office, but he's willing to try to work on it. That's got to count for something."

"It does." Rossi sat back. "What do they say, admitting there is a problem is the first step?"

Morgan nodded, "Exactly. He's not ready to start working with Dr. Messer on a regular basis yet, but he has started working out with me."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"He was so convinced by everyone from his mom to every bully that he ever met that he wasn't physically capable of doing anything that he didn't even try to pass the Academy PFT. Gideon offered to get him waivers because we could use someone with his brains, and he took him up on it. I figure if I can at least get him to pass it'll give him some self-confidence, maybe start re-writing those tapes from his past."

"And maybe he'll finally be convinced that we see him as a real agent, not just a bright kid." Rossi nodded. "Can he do it?"

"So long as his knee holds up; that's the only thing we have to work around, otherwise there's no reason why he can't." Morgan sat back and sighed. "That's not the problem."

"What is the problem?"

"His girl," at Rossi's look Morgan shook his head. "He's getting pretty attached there."

"That's a good thing."

"Yeah, well, I had Garcia run a background check, just in case. Baby girl said it looks like she might be in the Witness Protection program."

Now that got Rossi's interest up. "I beg your pardon?"

"Yeah, that's what I said. Garcia's been digging, but the Marshal's service is hard to crack."

"Yeah, I know." Rossi thought a little. "You know, I have a friend over there."

Morgan grinned. "I was hoping you would say that."

**Georgetown University Hospital Center**

**Washington DC**

**Elizabeth**

Thankfully it had been a quiet night so far. Elizabeth celebrated that fact by going out and sitting on the back stoop with her tea once again. Only this time she knew why her phone was in her hand, she was checking messages.

The first one was from Danny. "Hey Reverend, it's us. The girls got up to New York all right. They're safe at Ayla and Gadiel's house. Just wanted to let you know; thanks again."

Elizabeth smiled. That was a victory. Those two girls had their entire lives ahead of them now. They could go to school, finally, get jobs, and find men who truly loved them. That was the Lord's work, right there. Dear Lord, she thought, You're welcome.

The second was not as cheering. "Reverend Baxter, it's Pastor Dean from Northwest Community Church. I was calling to thank you again for your offer, but we've decided to rent a space here in the neighborhood. Some of our people would have a hard time making it out there. But it was a generous offer, thank you."

Elizabeth sighed, feeling that nagging tug of doubt try to rise up again. He didn't call you the Whore of Babylon, she reminded herself, he didn't say anything about the way of the transgressor or that you would be better off dead. It was a polite turn down of a simple offer, that's all. It was not personal. Let it go.

The third message brought a smile to her face.

"WHEN I am dead, and doctors know not why,  
And my friends' curiosity  
Will have me cut up to survey each part,  
When they shall find your picture in my heart,  
You think a sudden damp of love  
Will thorough all their senses move,  
And work on them as me, and so prefer  
Your murder to the name of massacre,

Poor victories ; but if you dare be brave,  
And pleasure in your conquest have,  
First kill th' enormous giant, your Disdain ;  
And let th' enchantress Honour, next be slain ;  
And like a Goth and Vandal rise,  
Deface records and histories  
Of your own arts and triumphs over men,  
And without such advantage kill me then,

For I could muster up, as well as you,  
My giants, and my witches too,  
Which are vast Constancy and Secretness ;  
But these I neither look for nor profess ;  
Kill me as woman, let me die  
As a mere man ; do you but try  
Your passive valour, and you shall find then,  
Naked you have odds enough of any man."

Well someone had a good case, she thought as she laughed.

**Joe's Bar**

**Washington DC**

**Rossi**

"Wait, what year was this again?"

Rossi looked across the small table at Pete Colomba, an old friend from way back. Went to the US Marshal's service, not a clue why. "1998, near as we can tell."

"And she was out of Atlanta? Are you sure?"

"No, but that's the best intel we've got. Why?"

"Josh Goldman." Pete sat back and sighed.

"Who was that?"

"He headed up the office out of Atlanta back then, had for decades. One day word gets back to DC that he hid a couple of people off the books, gave them new backgrounds, the works. He let them keep some car, futzed with the background of the registration, that's what gave him away. When they confronted him he said he couldn't even trust the service with this one. He lost his job over it, they forced him into retirement, but he never gave them up."

"You think it could be her?" Rossi asked him.

"Well the timing is right, and we don't have an Elizabeth or Marie Baxter on our books. They are not under official Witness Protection, and never were."

"So what the hell is going on?"

"That, my friend, is a very good question."

* * *

Poem is _The Damp_ by John Donne. Written prior to 1635 and no longer under copyright.


	28. Chapter 28

**St. Martin's Episcopal Church**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

It was a much smaller church than the National Cathedral, Spencer noted as he walked inside. It dated from about the same time frame, was far more Gothic than the very modern Northwest Community. But by his admittedly rough estimate it would hold 200 people, maybe 300, no more. It was stone on the outside, aged white plaster on the inside, dark wood, windows that looked to have been made by Tiffany. They even had pews; at least he thought they were pews, as opposed to the hotel conference chairs at Northwest. He slid into the back pew and sat. It was, in short, exactly how he always pictured a church should look like. It felt comfortable, somehow _right_.

The unnerving part was being in a church without anyone. He was used to doing this with Morgan now, to be able to follow his lead on when to stand, when to sit. He rather didn't think Elizabeth was going to be able to help him with that, not a clue where she was, and beside, if Northwest was any indication there was a public speaking element to this. He rather wondered what her speech was going to be on. No, wait; they called it a sermon, didn't they? Still, ought to be interesting.

An older couple slid in next to him and pulled some books out of a box attached to the back on the pew in front of him. There were more in there so he took them out to have a look. A book of music, that would be the hymnal, and something called _The Book of Common Prayer_. After a few moments to orient himself with the layout he realized that it was a program of sorts, laying out everything that was going to happen, the readings for the day, the point on the ecclesiastical calendar, and so on. Ritual junkie, he realized, the same rituals to mark the same days of the calendar, major life transitions, and holidays. That sort of thing had drawn community together throughout history, he knew. There was something comforting about the sameness of ritual.

The older lady next to him turned and smiled. "First time here, dear?"

Spencer blinked. He was not accustomed to having strangers just talk to him, randomly, "Um, yes, actually." What was he supposed to say, that he wasn't a believer, he was only here because he was dating the Reverend and was curious about what she did for a living. That couldn't be right.

"Oh. Welcome, then. There's coffee after." With that she turned back to her books.

Spencer looked back to the front. Not only had someone talked to him but this group offered coffee. Nice.

Slowly the place filled up, maybe three-quarter full. An organ started playing, then there were bells, then someone stood and said they were all singing something from some page in the hymnal. Admittedly he was not paying attention; he was looking around to see where Elizabeth could be, since they were clearly getting started. Everyone stood and started singing, mostly painfully out of tune. After a moment he realized there was a small parade of people in black and white costumes heading down the center aisle, carrying candles and attempting to sing. Elizabeth was at the end of the parade, her costume far more elaborate. That ought to look heavy, he thought, but she makes it look graceful.

When the members of the parade reached the front the music stopped, and they all took their places. Elizabeth stood at the front and looked out over the crowd. "Blessed be God, the Father, the Son and The Holy Spirit." She said in her quiet drawl, opening the ritual.

Hidden in the crowd, Spencer settled in to watch. It was classic, simple and lovely.

Right up until the first reading.

One of the people from the parade stood and moved to the lectern. "A reading from the book of Leviticus"

**Then**

**Abandoned Shack**

**Rural Georgia**

_It was cold. It was bone frigid cold. And it stank of burning fish livers and blood and him. His head hurt and he felt like throwing up wouldn't be a bad plan right now, but when you were nose to nose with an Unsub and tied to a chair it was better to concentrate on the task at hand and empty your stomach later._

"_You're a liar."_

"_I am not a liar."_

"_Lying is a sin."_

"_I am not a liar."_

_Spencer watched as Tobias, no his father, came over and picked up his foot. This could not be good. "This will be over quickly if you just confess your sins." He said._

"_I'm not a sinner."_

"_We're all sinners."_

_Spencer watched in growing panic as Charles Hankel pulled off his shoes. Why, he thought, why is he doing this? "And the Lord spoke unto Moses saying Speak unto all the congregation of the children of the Lord and say unto them Ye shall be Holy for I the Lord your God am Holy."_

_Charles Hankel seemed pleased. "You know Leviticus."_

"_Every word of the Bible," Spencer told him, "I can recite it for you."_

"_The devil knows how to read too." Charles informed him_

_Damn it, that was supposed to help. "I'm not a devil." Spencer told him. "I'm not a devil, I'm a man, and my name is Spencer Reid and I have a mother and I have a father just like you and they taught me the Bible and look, let me just, let me just say the Bible and…and…_

**Now**

**St. Martin's Episcopal Church**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Thelma**

It was Thelma's habit to stand at the back during the masses. Someone always needed something, a young mother needed to know where she could change a diaper or someone needed a bathroom or someone was late and needed a prayer book. And every so often Reverend Bess noticed something from her point of view, and would catch her eye and she or one of the ushers would go deal with someone asleep or in tears or once they had to call 911 for a heart attack.

But what she'd never expected was to have that tall, well-dressed young man sitting in the back row to stop and start staring off into space. Or for all the color to drain out of his face, or for him to suddenly bold for the door. She didn't have to catch Bess' eye to know to go after him and see what was what.

She found him standing in the garden, looking around at the still winter bare trees, still pale and clearly confused. "Excuse me. Excuse me son. Excuse me." She came close enough, but knew better than to touch. She just stood there, calling to him, until he turned around and came back enough to see her. "Are you all right?"

"Um…um yeah, I'm…um..."

"Why don't you come over here and sit down for a minute." Without actually touching him she guided him over to one of the benches in the garden, where she could perch on the arm and talk while still keeping an eye on the door. She watched him sit and pull his bag close to him, either for safekeeping or protection, she couldn't quite tell which. "I ought to introduce myself, I'm Thelma Parnell the church secretary here."

"I'm, um, Dr. Reid. I, um, actually just came to see Elizabeth…um…Reverend Bess. Um, wow I'm, um…I'm sorry for interrupting everything."

At that Thelma's heart cracked. Not another one, she thought, Dear Lord why? "Oh no, you didn't interrupt a thing. Mass is still going on. If you want to sit out here and wait for her I know she won't mind. Or, you know, we have coffee going in the hall, if it's too cold out here. Or you could wait in the library."

"You have a library?"

"Yes, this way," she led him into the hall foyer and then up the stairs. The library was tucked under the eaves, the ceiling rather low at some points. Or it would be for someone that tall. It was a quiet room with a table in the center, a couple of chairs, and a small library of theology and philosophy texts going back a hundred years or more. She looked over and noted how eagerly he was already looking over the shelves. "Now mind your head. This window looks out over the courtyard, so you can tell when mass lets out if you want to join us for coffee. I'll let Bess know you're here."

"Great. Thank you so much." He sounds so relieved, she thought, and not as embarrassed as he did, that's good. She left him up there with the books, where he seemed right at home.

* * *

Thelma sighed as she headed back through the sacristy toward the office. She'd wondered about calling a rector so young, but Harry had reassured her that it would all work out, that yes Bess was young and new to the field but with a little support and a chance for a quiet start she had the potential for years of service and good work in her. And Thelma could see that now, she was coming along splendidly. Granted she had thought her odd at first, what her staring off into space every so often, and jumping if you touched her without warning. But when she went to Harry he had explained what C-PTSD was, and how Bess had been in treatment for years, and how she was really doing fine, all things considered. When Harry told her what had caused it she couldn't help but come around on Bess' side and offer her support. They would get her the best start, she deserved it.

What she hadn't expected was a kindred soul once Tommy and Monica took her grandbabies and ran off to live with that same monster out in Arkansas. Bess had been right there for all of it, and was still to this day, fighting him as best they could. It was small, small victories, but victories all the same, and she was grateful for Bess' leadership in them.

But even she admitted it was a combination of gratitude and selfishness that fueled her prayers. Dear Lord, she thought as she settled at her desk in the closed offices, You and I have talked every day about how that young woman deserves a good man in her life, and about how I would love to have that manse full of children. I had hoped he was the right one, but now I have to wonder what You're doing. You have my trust, of course, but if You don't mind, I'm still going to worry. Amen. What did my generation do to our children, she wondered as she picked up the phone and dialed from memory.

"Hey Harry, it's Thelma. Can you call me back tonight? We need to talk."

* * *

After mass she waited for Elizabeth in the sacristy so she could help her out of her vestments. Elizabeth was pulling them off almost as soon as she got in the door. Thelma could tell she'd been worried as she greeted the congregation after mass, not paying the slightest bit of attention as she looked for someone. Now there was worry in the younger woman's voice. "Was that Spencer I saw running out during the first reading?"

"Yes it was." Thelma replied, carefully helping her pull the delicate voluminous garments off and putting them away in the correct manner and order. "I tucked him into the library, where he's probably still waiting. He seemed a lot more comfortable up there."

"He would, thank you ever so. What happened?"

Thelma took Elizabeth by the arm to be sure she had her full attention. "He had a flashback, sure as I've ever seen one."

Now it was Elizabeth's turn to have the color drain from her face, to get that look of fear and concern and sadness in her eyes. "Are you sure?" She asked softly, after a long moment.

Thelma could only nod. "And he had no idea what to do with one. You were never that bad."

Elizabeth nodded. "All right, I should go find him before I go into the hall." She finished removing her vestments and handed them over.

Thelma took the linen robe in her arms. "Are you sure? Bess, you're barely over this yourself. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Elizabeth got a distant, soft look on her face as she went to wash her hands. Something Thelma had never seen before. "Absolutely, Thelma, he's hurting, that's all. He's a good man, and what he does is far more important than anything I will ever do. You and Harry didn't give up on me; I'm not going to give up on him. And besides…." She broke it off there, paused for a long moment as she turned off the tap.

"And besides?"

Elizabeth seemed to shake herself and Thelma actually saw her blush. "And besides, Satan is not going to win on my watch." And with that she was out the door.

* * *

Some dialog from _Criminal Minds_ episode 2:16 "Revelations". No copyright infringement intended


	29. Chapter 29

**St. Martin's Episcopal Church**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Elizabeth**

It took her a few moments to make her way through the crowd lingering n the courtyard and gathering in the hall. Everyone always wanted to say hello, to tell her one small thing, good or bad, about their week, to connect. And she would listen to them, would connect with as many of them as she could. But eventually she made her way up the stairs to the library to find the one person who she now knew, actually needed her.

She stood in the doorway a moment, just looking. He had to be strong, she knew, to have made it this far, but at this moment there was something so young and vulnerable about him. Something about the set of his shoulders as he bent over his books, the back of his neck above his collar, his seemingly eternally mussed hair. She wanted to defend him and protect him and throw her arms around him and kiss him all at once.

I can't make him talk to me, she thought, I can't make him start to heal. This has to happen in his own time. I just wonder how close he is, I remember how afraid I was when I couldn't carry it all any longer.

**Then**

**Office of Rev. Harold Wickham D. D.**

**Department of Philosophy**

**Harvard University**

**Cambridge, MA**

_She couldn't. She couldn't do it. She couldn't even consider it. She couldn't even breathe. "I'm sorry sir," she managed to stammer out. "I don't think I can do that."_

"_Now don't be silly Miss Baxter." Rev. Wickham said in that booming British voice. "The student health clinic is open and free to all students. According to reports you practically rode down the steps of the Widener library on your backside yesterday. I understand that ice is an unusual occurrence in Georgia but you simply must me more careful. Now since you seem to be unable to sit down today I must insist that you seek medical attention."_

_And then I'll have to take my clothes off, she thought, and they'll know and..and… "I'm sorry, sir, I just can't."_

_She couldn't meet his eyes. She couldn't meet his eyes, she couldn't bear it if..if… But he was reaching out and taking her hand and… "Look at me Bess." His voice was quieter than a moment ago, impossibly gentle. "Look at me." She looked up and saw nothing but sorrow and compassion. "Your grandmother told me what happened. Now will you tell me as well? Let me help you."_

_She sobbed, a broken lost sound, and it began._

**Now**

**St. Martin's Episcopal Church**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

The small library was the perfect place to spend an hour or so. It was blissfully quiet, gently lit by the large windows, and smelled of old books and polish and coffee brewing downstairs. That it was also on holy ground was a point that Spencer noted, along with noting that he had neither headache nor stomach at the moment, and then set aside for consideration at a later time. For now he was quite content to lose himself in the stack of books he'd placed on the table before him.

He was so lost that he only dimly noted the sound of someone in heels coming up the stairs and down the hall, only vaguely realized that that someone had entered the room or slipped a book off the shelves. It wasn't until she lightly cleared her throat that he realized that Elizabeth was standing behind him.

"I HAVE done one braver thing  
Than all the Worthies did ;  
And yet a braver thence doth spring,  
Which is, to keep that hid.

It were but madness now to impart  
The skill of specular stone,  
When he, which can have learn'd the art  
To cut it, can find none.

So, if I now should utter this,  
Others—because no more  
Such stuff to work upon, there is—  
Would love but as before.

But he who loveliness within  
Hath found, all outward loathes,  
For he who color loves, and skin,  
Loves but their oldest clothes."

She read in the quiet hush before coming to sit beside him at the table.

"You should finish it." He said, when the faint, calming spell of the words was broken.

She shook her head. "It's not polite to flatter oneself."

Silliness, he thought. He took the book from her and finished,

"If, as I have, you also do  
Virtue in woman see,  
And dare love that, and say so too,  
And forget the He and She ;

And if this love, though placèd so,  
From profane men you hide,  
Which will no faith on this bestow,  
Or, if they do, deride ;

Then you have done a braver thing  
Than all the Worthies did ;  
And a braver thence will spring,  
Which is, to keep that hid."

He closed the book and looked at her.

"Are you all right?" She asked, as she reached up and brushed that curl back from his forehead.

He reached up and clasped her hand to his temple. She smelled like gardenias, he realized, and incense and something very warm. No, he thought, I am not all right. I cannot watch you in mass because when I hear someone read the bible I end up back in two of the worst days in a life made up of some very bad days. And I don't want to tell you because I don't want you to be afraid or to know how I failed or to know just what a broken mess I am. But I am coming undone here in a way I do not deserve. "If you're looking for someone with a perfectly clean slate I'm afraid you're on the wrong bench." He said, finally looking at her.

There was something sad and kind in her eyes. She reached down and took his other hand in hers. "Well I'm not changing benches." She said so quietly.

There was a bit of a commotion on the stairs. "Reverend Bess? Reverend Bess?" Some overstuffed church lady was coming around the corner and caught them sitting there, far too close.

Spencer instinctively took her hand down to where they were knee to knee, and could feel Elizabeth mature a good ten years even as he sat up straighter and put on the sensation of being an Agent and pushed down that emotion that had very nearly choked him. "Yes, Marge?" She was asking.

"Oh. Um. Mercy Roberts is here with her new baby. I, uh, thought you'd want to see."

"I'll be down in a moment. Thank you." Elizabeth waited until the now befuddled woman went back downstairs before turning back to him. "You're welcome to stay, if you like. But I think we're about to be the talk of the kitchen."

"I think you're right." They both managed to grin, if only for a moment. "I'll have some coffee. I thought I saw Doctor Hargrove in the courtyard. If he's still here I should say hello."

"Yes, he usually stays through coffee hour. We have a number of people here from the universities, you may know a few."

Spencer had yet to let go of her hands, they rested so easily in his. "So what happens now?' He asked.

"Well, I have an hour to say hello to everyone, hold Mercy Robert's baby, eat about a half-dozen or so cookies and hopefully my sandwich, then I have to prep for another mass at three. Then I have the monthly vestry meeting at 4:30, after which I usually go home and eat cold cereal and watch Star Trek until my brains stop leaking out my ears."

He frowned just a little at all that. "That's not exactly what I meant." She knows, he thought, she knows something's wrong with me. She knows.

She smiled and squeezed his hands a little tighter. "How about take out at my place tonight? If you don't mind Star Trek."

And she's not sending me away. "Never. Deal." They smiled and finally let go and he turned to gather his notes back into his bag. Only then did he realize what she was wearing. It was a long black dress, fitted to the waste then full to her ankles, with a high, Roman collar and Doctoral chevrons on her full sleeves.

_Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde…_

"What are you wearing?" He asked her.

"A cassock." She told him. "It's what you wear under vestments. I decided to go with one dress weight; it's easier than trying to change in and out all day. Why?" She looked over and frowned. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

_I know what you were planning to do with her…_

"No. No, I'm fine. I was just curious." It was just a dream, he thought, just a dream. "What do you want for dinner tonight? I'll go pick it up while you're in your meeting."

"What ever you like."

"Pizza?" At her nod he went back to straightening the books. "Do you know what a Gaga Twitter is?"

That stopped her a moment. "We have teen-agers downstairs, we can ask."

"Isn't that kind of embarrassing? I mean, to admit you don't know. I've found it makes you look really..geeky."

Elizabeth shrugged. "I'm a minister, I'm supposed to be a geek."

* * *

Poem is _The Undertaking_ by John Donne. Written before 1635 and no longer under copyright.


	30. Chapter 30

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

She'd loaned him her keys. He went to pick up pizza, breadsticks, ice cream even though it might do him in. Park in the driveway and let yourself in the back door. I only use the library; the door is at the bottom of the stairs. I'll come over as soon as my meeting is done.

The house was huge, he noted. A monstrous pile of stone, at least three stories if you counted what looked to be a large attic. But the back yard was small, with a lawn the size of a postage stamp and a porch with the requisite swing.

The kitchen was nice enough. Much of it was addition, he noted, perhaps added on when tastes in cooking changed, and all of it was clean if clearly used. It was big, far too big for one person. It was a family sized place. He left the stack of pizza on the counter, put the ice cream in the freezer, and set out to find the library. Out the door next to the refrigerator, down a dark, formal hallway with a staircase, and there was the sliding door, just slightly open.

When he opened it the rest of the way and turned on the light his jaw dropped.

It was a room straight out of an old gentleman's club. Dark furniture, much of it leather, all of it stuffed and comfortable. A desk at the far end, a small gaming table with a chess board at the near. Oriental rugs on the floor and small tables with lamps that gave off a golden light. At the far end a large fireplace just waiting to be lit.

And every inch of the walls, floor to ceiling, covered in books.

He took one tentative step over the threshold. It smelled of old paper and leather and polish and smoke and something floral coming from somewhere. It was utterly and completely silent. The only other living creature in this entire building was the geriatric cat centered on the immense floor pillow in front of the fire, a cat of unrecognizable breed or heritage. The cat opened his one surviving eye, yawned wide enough to show all three of his remaining teeth, stretched out a paw, and went back to sleep.

I can't do this, Spencer thought, I don't belong here. I cannot get comfortable in this perfect place. I can't sit here and eat pizza and watch Star Trek with a pretty, amazing girl who might actually like me. I can't do that because that's a dream and I don't get dreams. I get ideas, but not dreams. And even if I might have once, I gave that right away years ago. I gave that right away the moment I pulled the bottles from Tobias' pocket.

He backed up, blundered up against the door with a crash that made Tiberius look up and take notice. His heart was pounding, he was shaking, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't think. He was going to be sick, he was sure of it. He bolted for the back yard, heading out the way he came, throwing himself over the railing of the porch, but nothing came out, for once.

He stumbled off the steps, heading for his car, determined to head back to Morgan's and give up on this odd fantasy of actually falling in love. Except he couldn't go back, because that would be giving up and he couldn't give up in front of Morgan. He could go back to his own apartment, land of the noise and the smell of rancid food and the occasional roach from next door, which was about what he deserved, but if he did that he knew it wouldn't be much time at all before he was going to visit that guy in the alley two blocks down. I can't stay, he thought, and I can't go, and I can't go home because I don't have a home to go to. This could be a home, it could be, but I lost that right long ago.

He was pacing in a circle without realizing, pacing in a circle around what passed for her lawn, utterly lost in his own inability to make a decision. So he didn't see the black shape move through the kitchen, or out the back door. He didn't even notice until the porch swing squeaked as someone settled in. Only then did he stop and look at the shadow in the shadows. "You look like you're head is about to break open all over my yard. " Elizabeth said.

Spencer stopped and looked at her, a shadow in the darkness. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here."

"Why on earth not?' She asked without heat.

"I'm…I'm not worthy of you." There, he thought, now you know.

"Why not?" She asked, spoiling his hope for making it easy.

"I'm...I…" I don't want to tell her, he thought. There are so many reasons why she shouldn't know. I don't want to sully her life. I don't want her to know evil. I don't want her to know what people have done to her faith.

"Hey. Come here." Her voice was so soft and inexplicably kind. He could see her reaching out for him in the moonlight. I should go, he thought. But he was climbing the porch and then the swing was giving a little under him and she was holding his hands in hers. "You know, a big part of my job is marrying people. And they have to come in for counseling sessions beforehand, it's a rule of the church. I give them a list of things and we sit and go over them one by one, what you think about who works and who pays for what and how are you going to raise the children. Now couple of them are about what happened in your past, and most of the time they just skip over those as easy as pie, but every so often we get to those and one of them stops, and just looks at me. And I can tell that they don't want to answer it because they are so afraid what they are going to say is going to hurt the person in that other chair."

"What do they do?" He asked.

"Either they shake themselves and keep going, burying it back down, in which case I'll marry them anyway but it won't last three months, or else they just sit there, long enough for their beloved to realize something is wrong. I'll send them out to the garden to talk, and when they come back they're usually closer than ever. In my experience people tend to be stronger than you think."

How does she know, he thought, how does she know? "What makes you think I have something in my past?"

"Because something sent you running out of church with a flashback today. There's usually a reason for those."

Spencer sat, rooted to the spot. "How did you know?"

"Thelma told me."

"How did _she_ know?"

Elizabeth took a long, deep breath. "She's seen me have them enough times to know." She held his hand a little tighter. "I don't want to hurt you either."

Spencer let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He instantly remembered everything that had brought him up to this point and if she was there as well then what had she..? He could feel his heart breaking in sympathy, even as he wanted to go destroy whoever had done that to her. "That's not fair." He said in a strangled voice.

"Luke 12:48." She sighed. "So as I see it we can either cut our losses, sit here and ignore it until we can't stand to look at each other anymore, or see who's going to go first. I'll grant you that that would be easier if we could split it out to take turns, mine's just one big hot mess."

Spencer found himself holding her hands all the more tightly. "I don't want to lose you." He admitted. "I guess that means I'll go first." Where to start, he wondered. "I suppose I'll start with the one I didn't do. I…I told you my Mom is in a care facility in Las Vegas. She's really in an asylum. She…She's a paranoid schizophrenic."

Elizabeth listened quietly. "All right."

"That…um, that means there's a 20-40% chance that I'll be, um, joining her there in the next ten years." And here's the part where she says she can't handle that, that she can't take on that much work, just like my dad.

He could almost swear he heard her thinking for a moment. "I don't think that number's right." She said.

That was an utterly unexpected answer. "No, I'm sure it is. Eidetic memory, remember."

"No, I think the baseline number is lower. I think it only rises to 40% with a specific set of criteria."

"No, that's impossible." Spencer shook his head, feeling somewhat back on firmer ground even as she called him on a number. "Why would I remember the wrong number?"

"It's called 'Catastrophizing', a tendency to assume the worst possible scenario. It's a common symptom of…" He could see her bite her lip, rosy pink in the faint moonlight.

"Complex-Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?" He asked. She nodded. "All right." He said, trying to get the conversation back on track. "I accept that I could have the numbers wrong. The point is that having a first-order relative with schizophrenia significantly increases your odds of developing the disorder. And I still have twelve years left in the window of time to start showing symptoms."

"And I enjoy your company." Elizabeth said, "And if you are going to go crazy in the next twelve years I want to enjoy as much of your company as I can before you go. And then I will come visit you in the asylum."

"You will?" He almost laughed. There is another problem with that, a faint voice told him, but he was so relieved that she wasn't running away yet, and the chances were so slim, that he ignored it for now. "Right."

"Yes, I will." Her answer was just that simple. But then, much more quietly, she asked, "So what did you do?"

Dammit. He took a deep breath. "I really don't want to tell you, but, um, just being at that coffee hour today I put you at risk for getting burned without warning, so I ought to make amends, somehow."

She nodded, interrupting him. "Oh."

He looked over, confused now. "What?"

"There aren't many people who talk about making amends anymore." She said. "My Nana was in AA the last four years of her life."

Oh. Oh. "NA, actually."

"How long?"

"One year, four months, seven days." He admitted. "It ought to be three years, eleven months, twenty-one days, but, um…." Time for another deep breath. "Look, even though I'm in the FBI and even though I'm a profiler, in the end we're all cops and what we do is dangerous. There's no way around that."

Elizabeth nodded. "I know." She said, very quietly.

"Well, um, I was, um, shot, one year, four months and nine days ago." He felt her hands tighten on his, saw her eyes close briefly in the moonlight. "Actually in the leg, and it's, um, better now, but they put me on a morphine drip for the surgery, so I have to count from then."

"Well, that's understandable. It's still something to be proud of."

"Proud?' Spencer almost laughed at her. "How can I be proud of that? There's nothing to be proud of there."

"You made it this far."

'Yes, but I failed. I failed my team, I failed myself, I even failed you before I met you." I do not deserve this, he thought; I do not even deserve her patience. "And I am so very, very sorry."

She slid closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her at his side, and put her head on his shoulder a moment, almost holding him. "Spencer, you don't have to apologize to me."

"Yes I do. I have to apologize to everyone." The guilt of it, ever since that night in Ethan's bar, had burned somewhere down deep. Now it was flaring enough to consume him alive. "I failed everyone."

He felt her take a deep breath. "Sometimes you have to sin to survive."

"Is that what this is?" He felt her nodding against his shoulder. "How do I make amends for something like that? How do you live with something this big?"

"You don't." Before he could grasp the reality of that she was stretching up just a little closer, and murmuring to him in the moonlight. "Ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii,et Spiritus Sancti. Amen." She said, and then her lips brushed his forehead. Absolution, he thought, forgiveness of one's sins in the name of God. But I don't believe…

Then she kissed him.

It started slow, and soft, and gentle. Then it grew into something deep and tasted of honey and tea and somehow it was bigger than the entire galaxy. I love her, he realized as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her again and again, and I guess even after all that she loves me too.


	31. Chapter 31

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

They sat there in the dark for what felt like forever. Even after the kiss broke they stayed close, his cheek resting against hers, as he delighted in the scent of her, the warmth of her, the closeness. It felt like the world would never intervene. This is absolution, he realized, or maybe I'm just falling in love.

Eventually the world did call them back to reality, heralded by the sound of something flat and heavy slapping against the floor. The sound made them both jump slightly, made her pull back a little, broke the spell between them. He had no idea what that sound could be, but after a moment Elizabeth put it together. "Tiberius." She got up, tugging him after her, and they went in the kitchen to find that old tom cat licking at a piece of pizza. That had been the sound of the box hitting the floor and coming open for him. "Cat! It's not like you're gonna eat that, you're just gonna gum it to death." She said, as she went to save the rest of their supper and shoo him away. Once the pizza was safely back on the counter and the cat-licked piece relegated to the trash she looked over and smiled. "We've been going out for what, about a month now, maybe more?"

Spencer considered this. He could give it to her down to the seconds, but he was trying to be more conversational. "About that, why?"

"Do you mind getting dinner together to go in the library? I'm going to go change into something more comfortable." With that she left through a door in the far corner of the kitchen.

Spencer froze. Going to get more comfortable was a classic line, indicating an interest in sexual activity. And they had been kissing tonight. That was what happened when Lila kissed him, or that one time he'd gone down to go out with Austen, they both showed an interest in starting sexual activity right away, and while he was interested…

_Time to pack the trash boys…_

…and he was neither gay nor a eunuch, he just wasn't able to move that fast. He had hoped, when he found out that Elizabeth was a member of the clergy, that she would not be interested in moving that quickly. Which, given that he'd never been naked in front of someone else and not been hurt….

**Then**

**Nichols Residence**

**Washington DC**

_"Go help Hotch." Spencer said, trying to keep it together and not allow the ball of fear rolling in his gut to escape._

_"Hotch has plenty of people helping him." Morgan frowned as he looked over his friend._

_"They need you more than I do."_

_"Reid, I'm gonna see you off to the hospital."_

_"I'm about to get naked, so they can scrub me down. Is that something you really want to see?" Please take the hint, Morgan, please take the hint. This is going to be bad enough, he thought, I don't need you to see this too._

_Morgan took the hint. "I'll check on you later." He looked over at Dr. Kimura. "Take good care of him please."_

_Dr. Kimura watched the larger man leave before turning to Spencer. "I hope you're right about this."_

_"So do I." Spencer started pulling off his clothes. _

_The goal of decontamination is to remove every possible trace of agent from the surface of your body. In order to do that they use heavy duty scrubbing brushes, strong soaps and powerful jets of water that doesn't have time to heat. The usual result is what feels like the removal of the top layer of skin, pretty much everywhere, with a layer of soap burn on top of it. _

_And this was the first time he'd been naked in front of anyone in his adult life._

_He resisted the urge to cover himself with his hands once he was completely naked, there really wasn't any point, they were going to have to scrub there too. All he could do was take a deep breath and will his mind elsewhere as they began…_

**Now**

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

"Spencer? Spencer?"

Spencer blinked and felt himself snap back to the present. He turned to look at Elizabeth, who was standing right at his elbow. He breathed a sigh of relief to find her standing there in wooly socks, some kind of soft, black pants, and a faded Harvard crimson t-shirt. Apparently in this context comfortable just meant comfortable. Thank god.

She pulled a pitcher of an amber liquid, poured a glass, and handed it to him. "Here, drink it. It's just sweet tea, but eating or drinking something hot or very cold is a physical act that engages your sensory nerves, it helps keep you from sliding back in to it."

He could feel the tips of his ears burning from embarrassment, but having it treated so matter-of-factly helped. So did the cold tea going down his throat. "Thank you. Do you mind if I get comfortable and if not where is your bathroom?"

"Not at all and right through there." She nodded at the door she'd just used. "I'll meet you in the library."

* * *

A few minutes later, having divested himself of cardigan, vest, tie and contacts, and having loosened his collar, untucked his shirttails and rolled his sleeves out of the way, he joined her in the library. He still felt some lingering doubts about his worthiness to be there, but she had forgiven and accepted him and had specifically invited him into this space, and so it was clear that she thought him worthy. Is this absolution? He wondered again. Is it to be accepted as exactly who you are wickedness and all?

She had set the pizza and whatnot up on a low coffee table in the center of the room, and was in the act of building a fire in the fireplace. He wandered over to check out the pile of DVD's on top of what looked like a player, on top of what had to be the oldest TV still functioning. Curious, he crouched down to look at how the two were wired together. "Do not touch that." She warned him. "One of the guys from the congregation wired those two together for me. There was electrical tape involved. I have no clue how it was done."

"Neither do I." And I studied engineering, he thought. "Does this thing still have tubes?"

"Uh-huh. It's from the early '60's I think. It came with the house. If it ever does decide to die I'm going to get something I can mount in the cabinet, anything more modern would look like a dog's breakfast in here."

"True." He stood up as a thought struck him. "You're renting this place furnished?"

"Oh, I'm not renting. This is the rectory, or the manse as it's sometimes called. It comes with the job. The vestry even pays the utilities. Which is a good thing, I couldn't afford to live in DC on my salary if it didn't."

Now that floored him. "You have this whole house for nothing?"

"Yep. I get housing, free insurance and a pension through the church, and even tuition reimbursement. The pay may be lousy but the benefits are great. The only problem is that if we ever need to call an associate or interim pastor for a while I'll have him as a roommate. But with six bedrooms it's not that big a deal."

"No kidding." He went to sit on the most likely piece of furniture, but stopped. "What kind of a couch is this?" He'd never seen anything like it.

Now that the fire was well underway she stood and turned to see which piece he was looking at. He watched as her cheeks turned pink to the ears. "It's a…well, it's a….it's a Victorian spanking chaise."

Spencer blinked at her. "It's a what?"

"It's a Victorian spanking chaise."

Spencer looked over the piece in question. It was wider than the usual sofa. With a high back and only one arm which was thick and curved and heavily padded. The whole thing was covered in soft, darkened leather, and she had added a number of small pillows and a quilt over the back. It looked oddly comfortable, but…"What makes it a spanking chaise."

She managed to go even pinker, but started chuckling. "Come here." She said, moving to stand between the fire and the padded arm. He went to stand by her, only to have her put a finger up. "Now this is for illustrative purposes only. Do not consider this an invitation to try anything, either now or in the foreseeable future, not without clear and express permission. And until I ask you to help me off this thing you keep your hands to yourself. All right?" She asked, with a big grin on her face.

"Yes, Ma'am." He replied, carefully sticking his hands in his pockets. He watched as she lifted herself up a little, so a particular point was in line with her hipbones, then she folded herself over that wide, padded arm. When she landed her arms were crossed under her head, which rested on the seat of the chaise, her feet were a few inches off the ground, her backside was up in the air, and a specific, intimate part of her anatomy was in the perfect position for… okay, now he was turning pink. "And this came with the house?"

"Well, I wouldn't buy one. Help me up." She reached out behind herself, and he was very careful to only touch her hands as he pulled her backward so she could slide to her feet. "It gets worse, look." Some of the bookcases along the walls were deeper than others. She moved to the deep one behind the desk and gave it a shove. It rolled to the corner on a well hidden little track, revealing an opening in the wall behind it. "That's the maid's bedroom." She said, laughing. "I pray for my predecessors daily, I truly do."

Spencer moved to look over her shoulder. Hidden behind the bookcase was a neat little bedroom with a single bed, a dresser with a cluster of girl-type items on the top and some pictures tucked into the mirror frame, and an armoire. The rack of different colors of saddle shoes in the corner was a dead giveaway as to the owner. "You sleep in the maid's room?"

"Why not, I don't have a maid? I only use these four rooms. The kitchen is on its own heating and cooling system, the fireplace heats the rest of the rooms nicely, and this way I only have to run the heat enough to keep the pipes from freezing in the rest of the house. I don't have to clean it every week either; if I did I'd have to hire a housecleaning service. I just don't have the time."

Spencer set the bedroom on his mental map of the house. It would be just the other side of the sliver of a bathroom he had used, tucked into the North East corner of the building. "So you took this whole house and turned it into a comfortable apartment?"

"And a free one at that. And as for this beast," she said, going back to the spanking chaise and taking a seat, "it's quite comfortable for reading or watching a movie."

Spencer went and joined her on it. It actually was, wide enough to sit comfortably cross-legged, or easy to fall asleep on as it was nearly as wide as her bed. "So how did you know this was a spanking couch?' He asked as he reached for his pizza.

She stopped for a moment, and then swallowed the bite she had taken. "My step-father had something similar."

"Step-father?" He looked over, picking up on the uncomfortable silence of his companion. "Hey, people are stronger than you think, remember?" he said, very quietly

Elizabeth sighed. "All right. Look, my granddaddy was a Federal judge in Atlanta, Nana was a socialite, made her debut and everything. Daddy had a degree in engineering and flew for Delta. They were that kind of people. Momma was a stewardess for a while, barely made it out of high school, and grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, that kind of thing. Daddy was a lot older than her; it was one of _those_ relationships. I doubt it would have lasted if I hadn't come along not long after the wedding."

'All sex, no common interest." Spencer had heard about such relationships. It wasn't the kind of thing he wanted, he knew that much.

She nodded. "Or so my Nana told me later. But Momma didn't believe in divorce, and Daddy was too happy with being able to have his freedom with work and someone to look after me and the house to bother. He liked being with women he could talk with, not just, well, you know. And Momma fell in with a man who's ministry preached that the way to save a failing marriage was for a woman to become more submissive, to think less and have him make all the decisions. In my father's case that only pushed him further away, the only decision he made, he wanted to make, was to keep me in public school. He insisted."

"She wanted to pull you out?"

"Yes. This man's ministry advocated home schooling and strict social isolation for children." At Spencer's from she shook her head. "I have his books; you'll have to read them. Anyway, during the last few years Momma began corresponding with this man on a regular basis. Somedays I'd like to talk to the person who invented e-mail, you know? Then one day Daddy had to make a really difficult landing. He got the plane down all right, no one was hurt, but he never made it out of the cockpit. He had a massive heart attack; was dead before the paramedics got there. That was when I was two weeks short of twelve."

"I'm sorry." He said. He considered giving in to the urge to put his arm around her, but her body language didn't say grief, more like anger.

She sighed and nodded a thank you. "Three weeks later we moved out to rural Arkansas and Momma married that man with the ministry. She became his third wife."

"Third wife?"

"His ministry teaches that pre-natal care and assistance during childbirth is a sin. Letting a male doctor look at you is committing adultery, and all female midwives are lesbians because that's the only reason why a woman would want to look at another woman's parts. They also don't believe in birth control or abstinence once married. Among his followers the average family has over ten children and the rate of death in childbirth is in the high double digits. Most women don't survive until menopause." She sighed deeply. "Momma died when I was fourteen, she bled out giving birth to what would have been my step-brother. They wouldn't even let me go in to try to help her."

Spencer swallowed. He couldn't imagine finding your mother in a pool of blood…"That must have been rough."

"I can't say it was easy. You know," Elizabeth looked over at him, finally, "I'll tell you everything that happened, but I don't know about you, I've had a dilly of a day already. Do you really want all the details right now?"

He considered this. He hadn't told her about why he'd started on the drugs, about Hankle and all the rest. She'd already shared more than he was willing to right now. "No. You can tell me later if you want. I'm off tomorrow, by the way. I, um," He nodded at the TV, "put _The Conscious of the King_ in, is that all right?"

"Excellent choice."

* * *

_The Conscious of the King _and pizza turned in to _The Immunity Syndrome_ and rocky road ice cream. During that Spencer discovering that watching TV with your arm around a girl and her head pillowed on your shoulder was a comfortable, comforting experience. _The Immunity Syndrome_ turned in to the first act of _The Alternative Factor_. But only just.

Elizabeth turned and craned her head up at an unfamiliar sound. Well, familiar, but at first she thought it was Tiberius. It wasn't. Spencer had slowly slipped sideways a little, until his head was resting on the back of the couch. Now it was tipped back and he was snoring.

She carefully extracted herself from under his arm, got up and gently nudged him a little. He woke just enough to shift and roll, ending up stretched out on the couch, practically face down in the pillows. She plucked his glasses off so he wouldn't ruin them, left them on the coffee table in plain view, and then pulled the quilt down over him. "Come on, Tiberius." She whispered to the cat on the warm hearth. "Let's go to bed and let him sleep."

* * *

Some dialog from _Criminal Minds_ episode 4:24 "Amplification". No copyright infringement intended.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Morgan**

After hearing back from Rossi he and Garcia had spent the better part of Sunday afternoon trying to figure out what the hell was in Reverend Baxter's background that could be so bad or strange that a US Marshal wouldn't even trust his own service to hide her. Granted while they were doing so Reid had been out with that same Reverend Baxter, but they had access to her schedule on the church website, and knew that she was busy at the church all day, and so they figured he was at least relatively safe. And last night that theater had shown _Solaris_ again, and Reid had said he might go, and Garcia had a show to put on and he had a date, and one thing led to another which led to Morgan kicking himself when he got up and realized Reid hadn't come back to his place last night.

He tried calling three times. When that got him nowhere he called Garcia at the BAU. Hotch was taking Jack to the dentist for his first filling today, poor kid, and Rossi had a TV interview for his latest book and Prentiss had called in sick for a few days, so he and Reid had agreed to burn off a little comp time and make it a much deserved three day week-end instead of sitting around the office all day. Unfortunately Garcia had to work another team, but that did mean that she had been at the right machine when he called. One quick check of the electronic leash and Morgan knew that Reid had spent the night at what was probably his girl's place.

He still would have left well enough alone, at least for the morning, except something else came across Garcia's screen. "Okay, that's beyond weird." She had said.

"What is?"

"Do you remember Victor Barnes, our contact at DC Metro?"

"Yeah."

"Well, he initiated a background check on Reid this morning."

* * *

There wasn't a sign, but this place was built in the same style and time period as the church across the street. His hunch was confirmed by the sight of a classic blue Volvo in the driveway. He walked up the driveway and took a look inside the car. Yes, it was Reid's, and no, he wasn't sleeping in it.

"Can I help you?"

Morgan turned and found the brunette from the bookstore standing on the back porch, wearing an apron over a t-shirt and pants, and holding a mug in her hands. All right, he thought, go own up to what you did, be honest, and confront her. Odds are it wasn't something she actually did anyway, she was fourteen after all. And when you're geeky enough to finish high school and get into Harvard before you turn fourteen you really don't have much of a life. Look at Reid, for example. Either she'll tell the truth or she won't, and Reid has enough experience to know when someone is lying. This sucks, but it has to be done. "Yeah, I'm looking for Dr. Reid."

She smiled and nodded toward the big house behind her. "He's inside. I'm Elizabeth Baxter." She said when he got close enough, offering her hand.

"Derek Morgan." He introduced himself, shaking hands politely and then following her into a big kitchen that smelled of coffee and fresh cinnamon rolls. "Reid and I work together."

"Yeah, he's told me about you; all good things of course. If you're the one he calls Morgan, that is. This way," she led him through the kitchen and into a foyer with stairs.

"That would be me. But don't ask me to call you Elizabeth, I can't do that." Background or not she's still a pastor now, he thought, and if I called a pastor by her first name my Grandmother would rise up and smack me for it.

She just turned and grinned at him though. "I understand. Most people call me Reverend Bess." She pulled open a sliding door at the bottom of the stairs and nodded him through.

"Now that I can do," Morgan chuckled as he walked into what turned out to be a library. It was the kind of place where Reid ought to feel right at home, and clearly he did. He was passed out cold on a wide couch with a good sized cat perched on his backside like the conquering hero.

"You know, I was about to wake him. I need to go get dressed for work and he's been out a good twelve hours. Help yourself to coffee and cinnamon rolls in the kitchen, I made them for breakfast. I'll only be a minute." She headed back the way they came, leaving him to wake sleeping beauty.

Morgan tried kicking the couch, because shaking him tended to panic the kid awake, but this couch was a seriously solid piece of furniture. He had to settle for throwing pillows that had fallen to the floor. "Reid. Hey. Reid." Eventually the younger man stirred and opened an eye. "Good morning sunshine, time to get moving."

"Morgan?" The kid squinted at him until he found his glasses. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't answer your phone, I got worried. You okay?"

"Yes, actually," he blinked down at his watch. "I haven't slept this much in a…while. Where's Elizabeth."

"She said she had to go get dressed for work. She also said there's coffee." Morgan took a deep breath as Spencer, who had clearly slept in his clothes, got up and began the zombie walk in the direction of the coffee pot. It took him until the kitchen to screw up the courage to admit what he had done. "Look, before she comes back out, I have to tell you something. I asked Garcia to run a background check on her."

"You what?" Spencer turned on him, frowning. "I deliberately asked you not to do that. I wanted her to be able to tell me things on her own time. Now she's going to think I don't trust her."

"No she's not," came a voice behind them.

Both men turned to see Elizabeth standing in a doorway at the far end of the kitchen. Morgan couldn't help but blink a few times. Even knowing what he did, seeing her in some long, black skirt and a black shirt with a Roman collar threw him off. Did she have to look quite so much like a priest while we're doing this, he thought? "Look, I'm sorry. I was just concerned for my friend."

"I know. I had to stop a friend from running a background check on him." She replied.

"Who?" Spencer asked.

"Harry." She told him

"Who's Harry and does he know a Victor Barnes from DC Metro?" Morgan asked.

Elizabeth nodded. "Harry is The Very Reverend Dr. Harold Wickham; he's the Dean of the National Cathedral. They're on the same bowling league. Just don't tell anyone Harry likes to go bowling; it's considered déclassé among the donors."

Well, that explained it. "It looks like he decided to go ahead anyway; Victor Barnes started a background check on Reid here this morning." Morgan told them.

"Oh for heaven's sake!" Elizabeth moved over to pour herself some coffee. "Thelma must have called him after yesterday. Good Lord, save us from the people who love us."

"What happened yesterday?" Morgan asked, and then watched as Spencer and Elizabeth looked at each other. "Okay, look, I need to start getting some answers here. Let's start with why did you or your grandmother have a US Marshal erase your background?"

Spencer frowned. "What?"

Morgan watched as Elizabeth sagged and sighed. "You know, I was hoping to finish last night's conversation after work. But I can call Thelma and tell her I'm missing mass today, someone needs counseling."

"You don't have to." Spencer said, very quietly.

"Yes, I do. And there's no reason not to, I didn't do anything wrong."

Morgan realized he'd somehow managed to come into the middle of the conversation. She was telling him, he told himself, you're an idiot. "Can we start from the beginning?"

"Can we wait until I take a shower?" Spencer countered, clearly still a little pissed. "I mean, I don't think holding up the interrogation for ten minutes will violate national security. And you shouldn't have to cancel mass." He said to Elizabeth. "We can wait until later."

"Well, I've got a meeting with the diocese lawyer to go over the rental agreement before the start of the wedding season this afternoon, that I can't cancel for anything short of someone dying. We usually only have two or three older folks show, and they come to visit more than anything. If Thelma is so desperate to have mass today either Mr. Johnson can say it or she can just call Harry back. In the meantime I'll catch Morgan up to where we were last night. We might as well clear the air, and if it's going to get you in trouble at work we ought to know." She sighed. "I am so sorry about this."

It was disquieting, Morgan realized, to see his friend so casually touch a member of the clergy. It didn't seem right somehow. Spencer reached across the bar to squeeze her hand for a moment. "People are stronger than you think, remember. I'll be right back."

While Spencer went to get his go-bag from the car and grab that shower, at Elizabeth's behest Morgan made himself comfortable on one of the counter stools. "Okay, why don't we start with your real name?"

"Elizabeth Walker."

* * *

Twelve minutes later by the clock they were all sitting at Elizabeth's kitchen counter, drinking coffee and eating cinnamon rolls and trying to make this feel like anything other than an interrogation. Morgan noticed that Spencer sat where he could reach out and hold Elizabeth's hand if he felt the need. I'm going to have to get used to that, he thought. "Okay, so far we know that Elizabeth Walker here is the daughter of Paul and Shauna Walker of Atlanta, and the granddaughter of Judge Louis and Marie Walker, also of Atlanta. I'll tell you, I did not expect a Federal Court judge to come into this. And she told me how her father had a heart attack and her mother died in childbirth. Is that about right?" Spencer shot him his best pissed off look to date but only nodded. "It sounds like this all had something to do with your step-father."

"It does. You ever hear of Robert Joseph Thorne out of Arkansas?"

"The cult leader?" Spencer asked. "I read the FBI file on that. He was accused of committing acts of slavery, of forcing the daughters of his followers into marriages while they were still minors."

"Yeah, I remember that case." Morgan said, sipping his coffee. "I was with the Chicago PD back then, we were afraid some of his people in the city were going to start trouble."

"As I remember the FBI got involved because some of the marriages were made across state lines. Even though he has followers across rural America he also operates a compound outside Atkins, Arkansas where the so-called marriages were usually celebrated and consummated, but no one was able to raid the place because all of the girls were born at home. Without birth certificates on file they weren't able to prove that they were truly underage at the time of their weddings, and none of them would claim rape. What finally lead to the raid was when someone tipped off the state police that he had beaten, raped and was selling off his…" Spencer stopped. Morgan watched as all the color drained out of it, and then a look of sheer hatred the likes of which Morgan had never seen filled his eyes.

Throughout this recitation Elizabeth had been utterly still, and hadn't looked at either of them. Only now did she speak up, very quietly. "That part's not true; he never laid a hand on me, not like that."

His stepdaughter, Morgan remembered, Betsy Walker Thorne. Oh damn.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Morgan**

"So, what happened?" Morgan asked Elizabeth, as gently as he could. "What did Pastor Thorne do that send you into Witness Protection?"

"What you need to realize is that Bobby Joe doesn't lead so much a cult as a cult of personality." She started.

"I'm sorry, Bobby Joe?"

"That's what Momma called him. You don't think I'm going to give him the respect of calling him a Pastor, do you?"

Morgan nodded, "Understandable." It wasn't just that she was using Pastor Thorne's first name, it was that she was making it sound like it ought to be spelled with four letters. Whatever was between them clearly went very deep. "What do you mean by cult of personality?"

"A cult of personality arises when an individual uses mass media, propaganda, or other methods, to create an idealized and heroic public image, often through unquestioning flattery and praise." Spencer said. "Cults of personality are usually associated with dictatorships. It's similar to hero worship, except that it is established by mass media and propaganda. However, the term may be applied by analogy to refer to adulation of religious or non-political leaders. While the cult of personality generally applies to the enhancement and promotion of a political or religious doctrine, it stands to reason that it is also asserted in everyday situations where popularity is used to advocate conformity to philosophies and lifestyles, even products and attitudes by way of peer pressure and herd mentality."

"I'm sorry." Morgan said to Elizabeth automatically. "He does that."

Her smile brought the sun back to what had become a very dark gathering. "Yeah, I know. I kinda like it." Her smile didn't last though. "Stalin is a good example to use in this case. Bobby Joe calls his methodology The Patriarch's Path, and those who follow it are encouraged to report any deviation from the proscribed behavior up the ladder. Children tell on parents, wives on husbands and so on. When someone does deviate or tries to stand up to church leadership they're not only shunned, they're stalked and harassed until they return to make a public apology and start acting the way Bobby Joe wants them to. Think cold war Russia and the KGB and you won't be too far off."

"How bad does it get?" Morgan asked.

"Well, first they'll call your pastor and tell him you've been excommunicated until you repent. That means you've lost your salvation and your prayers can no longer be heard by God. Then they call your boss and tell them you're under church punishment and continue to harass them until they fire you. They call your landlord and have you evicted, or your bank until someone calls in the note on your house or car just to get them to stop. They call your children's school and harass the teachers. They get the other children of his followers to bully your children everywhere they go. They'll picket your house, spray graffiti, vandalize your car, even follow you around when you're trying to run errands, say, praying loudly or cursing you or even spitting on you if it's bad enough. And if your family is still in the fold they'll turn on you as well. I've heard of family members shunning each other, cursing each other, locking people out, cutting off their funds, even praying out loud for their death."

"Jesus," Morgan said.

"No, Satan, trust me. Anyway, it continues until the family in question either returns to the fold for punishment and regeneration, breaks up, or they move to a major city and try to start again under new names, hoping no one will find them. It's kind of hard when the Patriarchs are circulating your names and pictures and identifying information on their boards and blogs."

"Why don't people complain to law enforcement?" Spencer asked. "This behavior isn't legal."

"We're talking small towns, love, maybe a couple thousand people at best. There's usually only the one church, and everyone, even the Sheriff goes there. He's not going to cross his pastor, not if it means his eternal soul, and if he does, he and his family will be subject to the same sort of abuse. No, you have three options in a case like that, knuckle under, move to the big city, or go live in a trailer with the junkies and whores out behind the road house, they're aren't Christian enough to care." Elizabeth sighed. "Bobby Joe was trying to parlay his popularity with the faithful into a senate run when it all went down. While his control over the churches is still growing the scandal ended any chance he had at elected office. He blames me for that. So he got his people on Nana and I as soon as we left Arkansas. She didn't have the strength in her to put up with that much on top of everything else so she called on an old friend of my Granddaddy's to help us out."

"Josh Goldman?" Morgan asked.

Elizabeth nodded. "Nana explained to the dean of admissions at Harvard what had happened, and he extended my acceptance for that year. We packed up Granddaddy's old truck and left the South for good. By the time we got to Cambridge we were living under new names and starting a new life as best we could."

"And the church you work for doesn't follow Thorne?"

"No. Both the Roman Catholic and Episcopalian churches are extremely hierarchal, and their leadership is based overseas. Any priest in those churches opens their doors to all comers, leaving the question of sin and salvation between the person and God in the end. Any command otherwise is supposed to come down through the ranks, which means Bobby Joe would have to take his complaints to the top. And neither the Pope nor the Archbishop of Canterbury really give a hang what Bobby Joe thinks. He also doesn't have much truck with most Rabbis, Imams, Quakers, or the UU folk. But any other Christian denomination is suspect; he's got followers in most of them."

"Why didn't Goldman tell the Marshals Service what was going on?" Morgan asked

Spencer jumped in to answer that one. "I would assume it was because the Federal government can't ask about someone's religious beliefs during the hiring process. Any one of Goldman's co-workers could also have been followers of Thorne, and he wouldn't have any way of knowing."

Morgan was shocked. "You think they would have broken their oath to turn you in?"

"If it meant their family and their soul, wouldn't you?"

Morgan stopped. It wasn't so much that he would be without a church, he'd been without before. But the thought of his mother and his sisters refusing to speak to him, cursing him, even praying for him to die, that would be a hard one, he had to admit that. "You said your Grandmother didn't have the strength on top of everything else, what else was going on?"

Elizabeth sighed, and she and Spencer looked at each other a moment. "Nana was a drinker. She started the day they put my Granddaddy in the ground to numb the pain of his passing, and didn't stop until the day I called her for help. She never picked up a glass after that, started going to AA meetings and everything, but his followers even harassed her in those when we were in Atlanta. She couldn't fight them and dry out at the same time. And I was only fourteen and…well…"

And she was hurting too. "Why did you call her when you did?" Morgan asked.

"I crossed Bobby Joe. I did something he would never tolerate, something he considered on the level of murder, and I knew it. When he found out he beat on me for a good three days and then told me he was marrying me off to Jude Lawson to keep me away from his children. Now Momma had been following the Patriarch's Path for years before Daddy died, and all that time she told me Nana was possessed by the devil because she was a drinker and Episcopalian, but I figured even if she was, at least in Atlanta I stood a better chance of getting away than I did in rural Arkansas. And I knew what marrying Jude Lawson meant." Elizabeth shook her head. "He found me out two days after Momma died. Before that I wouldn't have left her."

"What did you do that made him that angry?"

Elizabeth looked directly at Morgan. "That's not your business."

She said that to me, he thought, everything else she said to both of us, but that was directly to me. "All right, do you think he's still after you?"

"He doesn't want me dead, remember? He wants me to come back and beg forgiveness of my own free will, nothing else will do. So long as I'm out in the world leading a good life I'm living proof that his way is not the only way. But he has to find me to harass me, and I usually lead a quiet life out of his hair."

Now that was a lie, Morgan thought, and her first. Why? "You want to try that again?"

Elizabeth frowned at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Look, if you two are going to keep going with this…"

"If?" Spencer asked.

"… you might as well know now, you will never lie as well as the guys we work with, so don't even try."

Elizabeth laughed. "That's what I get for trying. All right, there's a group of people who help young women get out of that life. Sometimes I head over to their safe house to help with counseling." And this time she looked directly at Spencer. "And if that's going to cost you your badge then get out now because I'm not going to stop."

Spencer had been sitting there, listening to all this, his chin resting on his hand. At this he shook his head. "I don't think anyone is going to go after my badge because my girlfriend volunteers at a battered woman's shelter."

Elizabeth frowned. "That's not exactly what this is."

"Yeah, but he's a better liar." Morgan said. "Okay, who knows who you are and where you are?"

Elizabeth started counting off on her fingers. "Harry Wickham, Thelma Parnell, she's our secretary here at the church, Vic Barnes, and Nannette Bryson. She's an RN over at Georgetown and my contact with the rescue network. "

"And you're sure she's safe?" Morgan asked.

She nodded. "Nanny got out herself after her husband beat their first child out of her when she was all of sixteen. She knows what can happen. And so does Thelma, her youngest son Tommy and his wife decided to fall in with Bobby Joe, they moved out to Arkansas two years ago. Thelma hasn't seen her grandbabies since."

"And Vic Barnes we know." Morgan nodded, this might not be as tied down as he'd like, but it was workable. "So, what happened yesterday?" He watched Elizabeth give Spencer a look that clearly said that it was his turn to start talking, his tale to tell. "Oh, that was you." He said, turning his attention to his friend.

Morgan watched the tips of Spencer's ears turn pink. "If you'll recall Charles Hankel had a thing for the bible; turns out they read large passages of it in mass. Thelma caught me…freaking out."

Elizabeth shook her head. "The term is having a flashback, and it's nothing to be ashamed of, at least not around here. I'm guessing she and Harry want to know what kind of demons you might have on your back."

"Yeah, good luck getting those out of Garcia." Spencer told her.

"Who?"

"Speaking of…" Morgan said as he pulled out his phone. "She's worried about you, you know." He said to Spencer.

"I'll bring her a new troll doll and apologize." Spencer said.

Morgan put it on speaker and punched seven on his speed dial. "Talk to me, my lickable chocolate god." Garcia said after the first ring.

Morgan looked up as Spencer groaned and Elizabeth giggled. "Girlfriend, do you realize you just said that in front of a priest?"


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

Once Morgan stepped outside to talk to Garcia, Spencer came around the counter. "I'm sorry that happened that way." He said to Elizabeth.

She just shrugged. "You know, for as many secrets as I keep you'd be surprised at how much I hate the things. It's clear they're your family; you shouldn't have secrets from them. And I don't want to have any from you, which does not mean you have to go telling me all yours, everything in its own time."

"All right," he said, "but what about that other thing that happened last night?"

"Which other thing?"

Spencer hoped this would be at least halfway smooth, and that she wouldn't laugh, that it would be at least close to as good as it had been. He mentally crossed his fingers, leaned in, and kissed her. She tasted of coffee and cinnamon and good yeast dough and he was rewarded for his efforts by having her in his arms and the slightest little lick that turned into something deeper that ran down to the base of his spine and pooled there. If there's no pressure to do anything else, he thought, I could totally get used to kissing.

"Wait a minute." He dimly heard Morgan say. "My head just exploded." After a moment he heard, "This is what's wrong," then the sound of the shutter on the camera on one of their phones.

The kiss broke just in time for the sound of Garcia screaming in either delight or horror coming from over the speakerphone. Elizabeth laughed and stayed in his arms, resting her head against his chest as he called out to the tech goddess "Do not put that on the bulletin board at work, Garcia. Please." He shooed Morgan back out of the room before he placed another kiss on Elizabeth's head. Her curls really were soft as silk, he realized, and she smells like gardenias. How do girls do that?

"So, does this mean you're not backing out?" She was asking. More specifically, she was asking the top his sternum, her head coming neatly just under his chin, "Even with all my problems?"

"Problems? I see a survivor who's dedicated her life to making the world a better place and stopping the people who hurt her. That is hardly a problem. No, I'm the one with problems." He sighed. "Speaking of problems, does knowing what to do after a flashback mean you've been in some kind of treatment for them or something?"

He felt her nod against his chest. "For five years now. Harry made it a condition of starting my field work in my last year of seminary, and he continued it through my supervisory period and into this posting. He has enough political pull to be able to do that. But he only did it because he cares about me, I know that." He looked down to see her smile. "You know, you're going to have to meet him at some point."

That smile was worrying. "So?" He asked as he raised an eyebrow.

"He received a Doctorate in Divinity from Lambeth Palace, after he got his Doctorates in Theology and Philosophy from Oxford. You may meet your match, Dr. Reid." She buried her face against his chest a moment, before her smile calmed a bit. "I'm guessing you haven't started treatment yet."

"Well, that should be interesting." A Doctorate in Divinity from Lambeth Palace was quite possibly the highest degree you could receive in the UK, Spencer remembered. It indicated an honored and distinguished scholar who had made a major contribution to the field, enough to be honored by the Archbishop of Canterbury himself, a religious figure nearly on par with the Pope. And he was the closest thing she had to a father. Oh boy. "No, I haven't, but I'm considering it."

She nodded, "Everything in its own time. Anyway, that's why I'm no good on Thursday nights."

"And I have a meeting on Thursday nights."

"You should really keep up with those." She said, in a way that sounded significant to him.

Well, that's not unreasonable, he thought, I don't blame her for expecting me to try to stay clean. "I will." He looked over as Morgan finally came back in, putting his phone away. "What did Garcia have to say?"

"Well she's going to start keeping an eye on the chatter on the web for us. If they do start sharing this location or her…your new name we'll have some warning." Morgan said to both of them. Then he turned specifically to Elizabeth. "One thing I will say, even if he hasn't yet, I don't think you should be going to this safe house alone."

"Oh, Nanny and I don't go alone. There are these two fellows who do all the driving…."

Morgan interrupted her. "That's not what I mean. I mean cops. Just in case, if we're in town, at least one of us is going with you, full stop."

Elizabeth turned to Spencer. "Is he always like this?"

"Overprotective?" Spencer nodded. "But in this case he's right. Please don't go without us."

"Whether you two can join us or not is not up to me, but I will call Nanny and have her check with the others. And I won't use names. I'm more concerned for your badges though, some of those girls are underage runaways."

"What do you do with them?" Morgan asked.

"The ones under age that don't have an older sibling with them go up to Boston. They have some contacts in CPS up there that get them into homes with Catholic families, mostly. The older ones go to New York. Rabbi Shulman up there actually runs the program; he gets the older girls in with families in his congregation until they can get out on their own. That's what happens most of the time, an under aged girl traveling on her own is pretty rare."

"Why did this Rabbi get involved?"

"From what I heard his brother's wife left him when she decided to convert and follow Bobby Joe. She took their only daughter and lit out for Arkansas to live in the compound. They were supposed to have joint custody, but the judge and sheriff out there are in Bobby Joe's pocket, so no one enforced it. When the daughter was fifteen Bobby Joe tried to marry her off to a man in his fifties. The Rabbi's brother tried to get custody, but the judge denied the claim. The girl hung herself the day after her marriage. When the Rabbi's brother found out they didn't even give her a proper burial, they literally tossed her body out into the trash pile, he took his own life as well. Now the Rabbi is trying to help as many girls as he can to atone for it, he feels responsible for his sister-in-law converting in the first place." Elizabeth shook her head. "I'm telling you, Bobby Joe is cutting a path of destruction through people's lives. Hang on, let me show you something. She walked out in the direction of the library, giving Spencer a chance to put another cinnamon roll on his plate. A moment later she came back and handed him a book, a trade paperback entitled _Growing God's Warriors_ by Pastor Robert J. Thorne. "Go ahead and keep it, I have five more copies."

Spencer couldn't resist the pull. When he looked at the copy he realized he'd seen this book before. He hadn't read it, but he'd seen it, and not in a library or in a bookstore. Where…

"What is that?" Morgan asked.

"It's his child-rearing manual. He claims it's the only way to raise Christian children, but it's really a guide for the best way to be an abusive parent. I know of at least four deaths attributed to the techniques in this book, and more damage than any of us can know. Any time someone gives this to a new mother in our parish I trade her for a copy of Doctor Spock, and then I burn them to get them out of circulation."

Spencer had seen it before. "You know, I think I'm going to go into the office for a few hours."

Morgan shook his head. "Kid, it's called a day off for a reason. You're not supposed to go in."

"Yeah, but I think I have a hunch on something. If I figure it out I'll give you a call." He turned to Elizabeth, "I don't know how late I'll be; what are you doing tonight?"

"Doing laundry and getting a head start on my sermon for the week. Real exciting, I know." Elizabeth smiled, "You're welcome to join me, and I'll make Mac & Cheese." She looked over at Morgan. "You're invited too, you know."

"Thanks, but if my couch is going to be free tonight I'll probably have company." Morgan grinned a moment, then remembered she was a priest and sobered up a bit.

Spencer packed up and they started heading for the door. Once they made it to the back porch, Spencer stopped and turned to Elizabeth, mentally crossing his fingers again. "So, is it appropriate to use kissing as a form of salutation at this point?"

"It better be." She said, stretching up a bit so they could kiss again. Yes, I could definitely get used to this, Spencer thought.

When he reached the driveway, though, he found Morgan grumbling. "Man, do you have to keep doing that in front of people?"

"Doing what?"

"Kissing her," Spencer looked at him, confused. "She's a priest. She's wearing a collar."

"Morgan, it's a job, a job where she helps others, which is amazing, but still just a job. And it's only a work uniform, it doesn't have any mystical significance."

"Yeah, well, it's going to take me some time to get used to it is all." Morgan said as he got into his car.

Spencer slid behind the wheel and realized something. For the first time in a long time, he didn't want to forget. He'd remember every moment of every kiss for the rest of his life, and he would be forever grateful for that. For once I don't hate my own mind, he thought, and that's a good thing.


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

**Spencer**

Spencer had spent much of Monday afternoon down here, chasing a hunch. In the evening he'd brought a box of files to Elizabeth's for an impressive supper of homemade Mac & Cheese and salad, which was followed by a quiet evening working in her library. He hadn't realized how enjoyable it could be to work like that, without interruption, with no sound other than the crackling of the fire, the sound of pages turning, the faint typing of a keyboard, and yet not be at all lonely. Just having a safe, comfortable, trusted, yes, _loved_ companion in the room had made all the difference. He'd finished what he'd wanted after a few hours, at which point she read him the first draft of her sermon, then she'd set that aside for ice cream, a Star Trek episode and actual cuddling on the couch. In the end he'd slept on that couch again, which thrilled Morgan to no end as he'd had a date last night. This morning after a solid eight hours with no nightmares he'd gotten up without being sick, gone for a run and the work-out routine Morgan had specified, used her shower, and had breakfast and coffee with her before she went to say Matins to start her day, while he walked the three blocks to the Metro station.

All in all, he felt terrific. He didn't know if he could attribute that to his companion, to the quiet and gently lit atmosphere inside her house, or to the fact that the rectory was on Holy Ground, and frankly, he didn't care.

Now he was heading for the basement with Morgan in tow, to show him what he had discovered. "So I was thinking about what Julio said yesterday."

"Aw, come on." Morgan groaned. "I thought we were done with the horror movie crap."

"Yeah, it's nonsense, I know, but hear me out as a thought exercise. So if we assume that Elizabeth is the help he was referring to…"

"If?" Morgan interrupted

Spencer ignored that. "What if she wasn't just personal help but also professional help?"

"What do you mean, other than that having a woman in your life is healthy for the soul?"

Spencer felt his ears turning pink. "Are you familiar with the 12 step concept of a sponsor?"

"Yeah, someone who's been where you need to go, who can help you through it," Morgan paused for a moment. "You mean she…?"

"No, not that," Spencer waited until they hit an unoccupied length of hallway. "She's been in treatment for C-PTSD for five years now."

"Mandated by the church?" Morgan saw Spencer nod. "That explains why it was in her file on the background check. Well, that's handy, but what does that have to do with work?"

"Um, nothing, that's the personal side. On the professional side I was reading that book she gave me…"

Just then they turned a corner and Spencer almost literally ran in to Rossi. The older man took in his friend's excitement, but spoke to Morgan. "He looks better. What did I miss?"

"He was at his girl's house last night."

"Is that all?" Rossi shook his head. "If I'd a known it was that simple I would have hired him a hooker six months ago."

"I slept on her couch!" Spencer said in protest.

Rossi looked at him. "Stop disappointing me. Now what's going on?"

Morgan spoke up. "He's got some theory; we were on our way to the archives so he can play show and tell."

Since he was now speaking to both of them Spencer backed up a bit. "Elizabeth gave me this book, _Growing God's Warriors_, it's a child-rearing manual written by Pastor Robert Joseph Thorn."

"The cult leader?" Rossi asked. "I remember that case. That was a pain in the ass. No one would open up enough to allow us to get a conviction."

Spencer frowned and pocketed that fact away for later. "Anyway, this book reads like a manual for turning a healthy child into an Unsub. He recommends starting beatings by the age of three months to deliberately break the child's will; he uses violent operant conditioning to prevent a child from exploring their environment. He suggests deliberate neglect in order to keep the child on a schedule; he even suggests a diet that restricts calories and nutrients to inhibit neural development. The list of negative treatments and results goes on and on, right up to forcing girls to marry older men at young ages while preventing boys from having any sort of sexual outlet."

"And how is that different from you?" Rossi asked.

Sometimes, Spencer thought, you just have to outshoot Rossi. "I can spend as long in the shower as I want whereas Thorne suggests restricting showers to three minutes or less specifically to prevent masturbation."

"So if this is a manual for how to make an Unsub, why haven't we seen it?" Morgan asked.

"We wouldn't." Spencer replied. By now they had reached the basement archive and he was leading them through the tall rows of racks of case boxes. "We only go after the Unsub, who, from this point of view, would be the victim. The books would belong to their parents, and would be discovered by the teams who went back later to do research interviews." They came around the corner to where Spencer had set up four folding tables. Lined up on each was case boxes, anywhere from seven to ten of them, and on top of each box there was a well worn copy of _Growing God's Warriors_. Spencer stopped at the first table. "Owen Porter, James Turner, Chad Vincent, Joey Baker, Adam Jackson, Gary Robles, Ervin Robles, Paul Mulford, Johnny Mulford, and Tobias Hankel were all raised by parents or foster parents who used this manual as a guide for training their children. Charles McGrew aka Benjamin Cyrus is a slightly different case. He had his followers using this manual on their children. And that's just our team over the past five years and where the research interviewer happened to consider it significant enough to add the book in to evidence. The rest of these boxes are from other teams, also over the past five years."

"Jesus." Morgan said, looking at the tables in shock.

"Actually I have to agree with Elizabeth on this one. If you want to attribute causation to a mythological deity you might be better off with Satan." Spencer replied. "I don't know how knowing this would help us catch an Unsub, but having this many known offenders influenced by the same book is at least statistically significant. It's definitely worth more research."

"I'll say." Rossi said. "Well, we're not going to get a decent interview out of Thorne, but maybe we can contact some of his known victims, they might be able to help."

"I'm sure Elizabeth would be willing to be interviewed."

Rossi looked over at Spencer. "What's her connection to all this?"

Morgan answered him. "Before Marshal Goldman gave her a new background she was known as Betsy Walker Thorne."

"The stepdaughter?" Rossi was shocked. He turned back to Spencer. "What is it with you and women?" Spencer just shrugged. "All right, you're not interviewing her, you're too close. I'll do it. Let me know who to call to set up a time. Good work Agent Reid." Rossi turned back to Morgan. "Give me a hand pulling a couple of boxes up?"

As the two older men moved off Spencer called after them. "Are you two going to help me put these away?"

He heard Rossi call back. "You made the mess, you clean it up."

**Morgan**

Morgan helped Rossi bring three boxes up. "What's with these?" He asked, as soon as they were out of earshot.

"It's the Thorne file. As I recall there are evidence photos in here, I don't want him to be tempted. He doesn't need to see that. And I want to review it before I do any interviewing." Rossi replied.

Morgan waited until they were back in Rossi's office before saying, "You know, this file is wrong. Reverend Bess said Thorne never raped her."

"Really?" Rossi opened up one of the boxes and went rummaging through the files. He pulled one out and went over quickly to refresh his memory. "Well someone did, the rape kit came back positive. We just assumed it was him because she claimed he beat her. That's why the case never held up, she refused to say anything about the rape and the samples were too degraded for a DNA match."

"What?" Morgan took a quick scan over the paperwork, deliberately not looking at the photographs. "Damn it." What was it with Reid and women?

"It's not up to us to tell him, this is between them." Rossi took the file back and put it in its proper place in the box. "All we can do is be there for him when she does."

* * *

The characters listed are from _Criminal Minds_ episodes 2:15 "Revelations", 2:21 "Open Season", 3:04 "Children of the Dark", 4:03 "Minimal Loss", 4:20 "Conflicted", 5:04 "Hopeless", and 5:21 "Exit Wounds"

* * *

Personal note: The next chapter might be a day or two, I want to wait for the next episode before I write it, and then my beta reader gets it first.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

**Syracuse Police department**

**Syracuse NY**

**Spencer**

The girl was safe, thank God. Now he had to go help Rossi interview Jane Gould, which promised to be very interesting, and all kinds of disturbing. But the sooner they got it done they sooner they could go back to DC. Prentiss, Seaver and Hotch were already heading back, he and Rossi and Morgan were staying behind to tie up this last loose end. Molly was going to need a long time to recover, but she was safe. Her boyfriend Lyle was dead, which was unfortunate only because death is always unfortunate. Still, neither he nor Morgan could feel too badly about that. He did, after all, beat on his girlfriend. Spencer had to admit, this job was putting a callus over his moral code.

Thankfully there was still gentle beauty in the world. And it was not too late to tuck into a quiet corner of the station and call her. "As trite as this is for an opening line in a phone call, what are you doing?"

"I'm curled up on the naughty couch reading Proust and eating tea and shortbread." Elizabeth said. "What are you doing?"

"I'm about to go help Rossi interview what might be one of the more personally disturbing psychopaths I've ever encountered. I'm really not looking forward to this."

"You know, if you want to tell me about it when you get home, I'll listen."

"Really?" Now this was a dilemma. On the one hand, he'd rather keep these two worlds as separate as possible. On the other hand, Rossi was going to be interviewing her as a witness to her own stepfather's insanity. She knew what was out there. Maybe not all of it, but unlike Haley, she at least knew. "Are you sure? I don't want to give you nightmares or anything."

"Nightmares happen anyway. I'll sacrifice a little sleep if it helps you."

"Seriously?"

"Burning those books is a small way to fight evil. So is helping those girls. What you do is immensely more important. Let me support you in it, please."

And that, Spencer thought, is the most generous thing. "I don't suppose you have that book handy."

Elizabeth laughed, and he heard the familiar sounds of one book being set aside, and another picked up and leafed through.

"He that cannot choose but love,  
And strives against it still,  
Never shall my fancy move,  
For he loves against his will ;  
Nor he which is all his own,  
And cannot pleasure choose ;  
When I am caught he can be gone,  
And when he list refuse ;  
Nor he that loves none but fair,  
For such by all are sought ;  
Nor he that can for foul ones care,  
For his judgement then is nought ;  
Nor he that hath wit, for he  
Will make me his jest or slave ;  
Nor a fool when others —  
He can neither —  
Nor he that still his mistress prays,  
For she is thrall'd therefore ;  
Nor he that pays, not, for he says  
Within, she's worth no more.  
Is there then no kind of men  
Whom I may freely prove?  
I will vent that humour then  
In mine own self-love.

"Thankfully, love, you manage to fit none of the above categories."

"I'm glad you have such a high opinion of me." Spencer said. Love. Her love. He could easily get used to that. "Tomorrow's Thursday. Can we, I don't know, meet for dinner?"

"Before we go off to our respective appointments?" She asked. "I think I'd like that very much."

"Thank you."

"Good night, love."

Spencer hung up the phone and went looking for the others. Morgan was still keeping him close, but that was all right. "Sorry about that." He said when he found him.

"That's all right." Morgan said. "If five minutes on the phone with your girlfriend keeps you in the game no one is going to complain."

**Eddie's Diner**

**Georgetown**

**Washington DC**

"So I managed to read through twenty-two self-help books in one morning." Spencer said to Elizabeth in between bites of burger. "And I still don't understand the point of it."

"The point of what?" Elizabeth asked, "Self-help books?"

"Self-help. Affirmations. The power of positive thinking. It seems like all of those books insist that if you just change your emotional state that all of your problems will magically vanish." He illustrated his point by making a French fry disappear. "So do most therapists I've met. If you just change the way you feel everything will go away."

"In some cases it does. For some people's problems, that's really all that's required. And for a lot of people just being able to look at a situation from a different point-of-view helps them see what they need to change." She took a sip at her half of the milkshake. "It sounds to me like you've dealt with some really lousy therapists."

"Maybe."

"The good ones validate your experience. You do not want to know how many I went through before I found one who accepted the idea that an entire community can band together to turn against someone. They all insisted it was exaggerated paranoia; granted that's starting to change, just for awful reasons."

"Awful reasons?" Spencer considered a moment, "The stalking cases that have cropped up over the past few years?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Oh honey, he wasn't outside your office. Those were just telemarketers on the phone, he wasn't checking up on you. There wasn't anyone outside your window, you're just being paranoid. Next thing you know they're going to a client's funeral. The literature on C-PTSD at least is now pointing out that a client may be providing an accurate estimation of the perpetrators power and reach, so accept it and don't underestimate. Better to err on the side of safety." She chuckled. "Sorry, that was a little off track."

"That's all right. The point is that in more cases than anyone wants to believe the external situation is what needs to change. And changing how you feel about it isn't going to help."

"True. Even if you feel powerless, trying to get you to feel like you have power doesn't always help. Sometimes you really are powerless in a situation, and you need someone to step in and help you out."

"I know how that feels." Spencer sat there a moment, meditating on the state of his milkshake. "You know, something's been going on at work. Emily Prentiss, one of my teammates, has been acting very odd lately. Something's going on with her. I don't know what. Then JJ left a few months ago, she was transferred to the Pentagon, now we never see her, and Hotch has barely been there since his wife died. I mean, he's there physically but mentally he's just not. And we almost lost Morgan this past summer in LA." He shook his head. "And Chief Strauss is just lurking in the halls, waiting for any excuse to split us up. It feels like my family is trying to break up on me. And there isn't a thing I can do about it."

"I'm sorry love." Elizabeth said, reaching out to take his hand across the table. "You know, you really should go talk to someone about all this."

Spencer just shook his head. "Why? What are they going to tell me that you can't?"

"I don't know. I'm not a dispassionate observer. I want to go help or yell or something at them so they stop hurting you. And that's not helpful."

Spencer blinked. That was something he had not expected, from anyone, ever. "Wait, you want to, what, defend me from Chief Strauss?"

"I would if I could, if it would help at all." Elizabeth shook her head at him. "This is what happens when someone, I'll say it, loves you."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

**BAU headquarters**

**Quantico VA**

"Actually his theodicy is in line with modern theological thinking." Elizabeth said, as she got out of the elevator at Spencer's side. "It's remarkably sophisticated."

"Really?" Spencer said as he led her through the bullpen. "I thought it was something he invented out of thin air. Coffee?"

"No. See, when most people use the term omniscient they refer to total omniscience, which is kind of a naive concept. Please."

Spencer led her up to the kitchen area, trying to ignore the stares of pretty much everyone else in the bullpen. .. or office… or perhaps building.

"Okay, so if X is omniscient = defined as 'For all propositions p: if p is true, then x knows that p is true' because X must know everything."

"Right and he's saying that that's not the case."

"No, it can't be. Because in order for it to be true we have to assume that P is both true and knowable, and that X actually does know it. Just because X can know it, doesn't mean that X does know it. So the next step was X is omniscient = defined as 'For all propositions p: if p is true and p is logically knowable, then X knows, or at least can know that p is true.' But that is also a flawed definition."

"Why?" Spencer asked. "It eliminates the problem of the logically unknowable proposition."

By now Emily, Garcia and Morgan had wandered over and were silently listening.

"Yes, but it does not eliminate the problem of the Strengthened Divine Liar." Elizabeth said. "Defined as B = "X does not believe that B is true. If B is true, but X, does not believe that B is true and thus doesn't know that B is true. Therefore, if B is true, then there is a truth "B is true" which X doesn't know. And if B is not true, or not false, then X falsely believes that B is true. But to believe the falsity that B is true is to believe the truth that B is not true. Therefore, if B is not true, then there is a truth "B is not true" which X doesn't know. So, in any case there is a truth that X does not and cannot know, for knowledge implies true belief. And so it would be more accurate to define it as X is omniscient = defined as 'For all propositions p: if p is true and p is logically knowable **to X**, then X knows, or at least can know that p is true. By the very definition of logic there has to be some truths that are then not logically knowable to X, and thereby X cannot be totally omniscient. "

"Okay, who or what is X?" Morgan asked.

Spencer and Elizabeth both looked up, giving the three of them and the entire office behind them full view of her collar. Yep, she really was. "Oh, X equals God." She said. "Spencer was telling me you recently had a case involving a practitioner of Palo Mayombe who had a remarkable theory of theodicy."

"Theodicy?" Morgan asked.

Spencer spoke up. "The term was coined in 1710 by the German philosopher Gottfried Leibniz."

Elizabeth nodded. "It's a theological or philosophical study which attempts to justify God's nature of omni-benevolence, omniscience and omnipotence, despite the existence of evil which would otherwise stand to refute God's existence"

Emily turned to Garcia. "So, what do you think you're going to wear to the wedding?"

"I was thinking chartreuse. You?" Garcia said with a perfectly straight face.

"I was thinking hot pink." Emily replied.

"I was thinking I was going to be conducting an interview." Rossi said behind them. They made a hole so he could come forward. He calmly looked over the self-possessed young woman before him, noting the difference between her and the photographs of the battered girl in the pictures. "Reverend Baxter I presume? I'm Dave Rossi. Thank you for coming in today."

"Anything I can do to help." She said, shaking hands. Elizabeth turned back to Spencer. "See you for lunch then?" When he nodded she followed Rossi in the direction of his office.

* * *

Toward the end of the day, after Spencer and Elizabeth set out, Morgan found Rossi in his office. "Well?"

"Well, I learned a lot more about Thorne than we did before. But she lived in his house for almost three years, so that was a given."

"Yeah, but did you find out about the rape kit? Or what set Thorne off?"

"Nope, she still wouldn't talk about it. She was willing to talk about everything else, but she said that wasn't anyone's business."

Morgan sighed. "Damn."

* * *

Poem is _Self-love_ by John Donne. Written prior to 1635 and no longer under copyright.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

**Bleeker Farm**

**Outside Hume, VA**

**Spencer**

He didn't really know what he'd expected.

When Elizabeth called him at work today and said there were two kids, a brother and a sister, coming up tonight he'd told Morgan, and after work they had gone to pick her up. He had a vague sense that Morgan was keeping Hotch in the loop from the way Hotch was looking at him, but other than that he hadn't dared to ask. Given that this was outside of the bounds of the Bureau it felt like and adventure.

Elizabeth was in full on work uniform, the same all-black version she'd worn for the lawyers, and had packed along what looked to be bags of clothing and toiletry kits, and two bibles. When Morgan had asked she had just sighed. "They've never read it for themselves, only excerpts which the men in their community interpreted as they read. But everyone ought to have a right to read it through and make up their own mind. Granted that assumes they can read it through."

"Literacy is an issue then?" Morgan asked as Spencer listened from the back seat.

Elizabeth nodded. "Homeschooling in and of itself isn't a bad idea, it lets you tailor the education to each child's abilities and interest, and if your child is the type to attract bullies or has certain learning issues it can be the only way they will learn. However, in order for it to work you need a fair amount of one-on-one time for each child. When you're the middle of twelve and it's just Momma trying to teach you and keep the house and care for all those babies, you really don't get a chance to learn much."

"So what's going to happen to them?"

"The people up in New York will give them room and board, usually in exchange for helping with child or elder care, and they'll be encouraged to go to school for the GED and eventually college."

"Helping with child care." Morgan considered this. "How is this different from what they were doing?"

"It's usually only 2-4 hours a day, as opposed to 24/7. The families they go to aren't that different, in some respects, from what they left. The women dress modestly, for example, and there are certain codes for behavior, most of them don't have TV's in the home, that sort of thing. But these families value education, and truly believe that everyone has a right to their own thoughts and decisions. It gives them a chance to ease into secular society at their own pace while not feeling like they're a burden on someone's charity."

"All right." Morgan said. "So what happens now?"

"Well, we'll meet Nanny down there; it's about a 90 minute drive. We could just be there for supper, or we could be there for a day or two, depending on if anyone is hurt. Once Nanny gives them the all-clear Sam and Danny will drive them the rest of the way to New York."

"Sounds like the Underground Railroad." Morgan commented.

"Something like that." Elizabeth replied.

Now they were pulling in to what almost looked like an abandoned farm in the middle of a lot of snowy nowhere. "Looks like we're the first ones here." Elizabeth said, hopping out of the car.

"Now, just wait here. Let us have a look first." Morgan seemed instantly annoyed. Elizabeth just smiled indulgently and handed him the house keys.

After carefully checking the surrounding area and then the house they came back out. A blackbird in the snow, he thought, her curls almost look red in this light. A red winged blackbird. "There's no power." Spencer told her. "It's a freezer in there."

"I know." She replied. "The water pump runs on a battery, and there are lanterns and a wood stove to heat the house."

"Wood stove?" Spencer was dubious. She expected to heat that house with a wood stove?"

Elizabeth leaned in and kissed him lightly, "You are such a city boy." She said, exaggerating her accent. "Come on. Y'all need to bring some wood in."

* * *

Wood stove. It turned out that she did not expect to heat the whole house with it. Most of the house, like most of the rectory, was closed off and wearing dust clothes over the furniture. But the big stove in the kitchen heated it and the bedroom at the head of the stairs nicely, and after a few minutes the pipes came back to life and water in the tank ran clean. They had stopped on their way out for what seemed like way too much chicken dinner, which was now keeping hot in boxes on the counter. She'd put the kettle on, and there was tea.

The first to arrive was Nannette. She turned out to be in her early 30's, calm and quiet. They had helped her bring in a couple of bags and a box of medical supplies, and hauled them up the stairs for her. "What kind of injuries are we looking for?" Spencer asked her as they came back downstairs.

"It's not unusual for girls to decide to leave after their father tells them that someone they dislike has been courting them. Usually they've been suspecting the suit for some time, and someone in the network has made contact with them after catching them crying about it. When they refuse the suit they get a severe beating. The next time the family leaves the house the girl calls for the first runner and they go, well before they've had a chance to heal. So bruising, lacerations, occasional broken bones and potential kidney damage are all a possibility here. The kidneys are the biggest problem, depending on how bad it is I may have to put them on IV fluids for a while to minimize the risk.

"What about rape?" Morgan asked.

**Then**

**The University of Arkansas for Medical Sciences**

**Little Rock, AR**

**Elizabeth**

_By now she rather wished she could lose consciousness. It would be preferable to what had happened so far today. Everything hurt, a bone-deep ache overlaid with the burning of torn, abraded skin. If she moved wrong or breathed too deeply she could feel ribs grinding against each other. And every so often her muscles cramped in a pain so sharp and deep she literally couldn't breathe until it was over. And that was just her torso. Her legs were much worse. And she didn't even want to think about her face. Her nose was broken at the very least. How she'd managed to cook oatmeal for a flock of children like this she'd never know. _

_But the worst pain had been the look on Joshua's face when the State Police walked her out the door. He looked so horribly guilty. She'd wanted to tell him that it was her fault, from beginning to end. But she couldn't. Not there. Not then._

_Now all she could do is lie here and try not to think about it. To disconnect her mind from her body as much as she could. _

"_Can we roll her over?" She heard someone ask dimly. "We need to run a rape kit."_

_What's a rape kit, she wondered. I'd rather just lie here for a while. But then hands were turning her over and…_

**Now**

**Bleeker Farm**

**Outside Hume, VA**

**Spencer**

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth?" Do I get that way, Spencer wondered, that lost, not there look in my eyes. Not blinking, just staring off into the past. "Elizabeth?"

She turned and smiled at him. "I'm all right."

"Here" He handed her a cup of tea. Physical sensation, action, wasn't that supposed to help.

"Fast learner." She chuckled and curled her hands around the mug. "Thank you."

"That never happens." Nanny replied to Morgan.

"Never?"

"No, the girls are watched much too carefully for that. Their physical virginity is counted among the families financial aspects." At Morgan's shocked face she nodded. "It's not a formalized dowry system but a way to cement business relationships. My father got a substantial chunk of commercial property from my father-in-law for considerably less than market value when he married me off."

"I probably shouldn't ask, but…"

Nanny smiled without any humor. "I was sixteen, he was twenty-seven, I was his second wife, and he was a catch." She chuckled. "He wasn't over thirty yet, after all. Granted I had a stepson two years younger than I was, but at least my husband wasn't twenty years older. Then when I was in my first trimester I fell asleep one afternoon and didn't cook dinner."

"I can guess what happened." Morgan said

Nanny nodded. "That Sunday when one of the ladies asked me what happened and I told her she said she could get me out. I realized life wasn't going to get any better; he was already trying for another one after all. So I followed her out to her car. Turns out both her and her husband were part of the network. I made it up to New York, worked as the Rabbi's nanny while I finished high school, and went to nursing school on a scholarship. And I haven't looked back."

Morgan smiled. "Now that's something to be proud of."

Nanny smiled back, and then turned at the crunch of tires on snow. "They're here."


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

**Bleeker Farm**

**Outside Hume, VA**

**Spencer**

Spencer joined the others at the window. In the gathering gloom outside a large, battered SUV had pulled up. He watched as two men got out of the front seats and moved to the back passenger doors.

"The boys go armed, you know." Elizabeth said. "So don't get too jumpy."

"Why?" Morgan asked.

"A lot of the men down there do." She replied. "Maybe its one-upmanship, I don't know."

Spencer watched as an older boy or younger man came around to this side of the car. And then somehow they pulled someone else out. That must be the sister, Spencer thought, as she went from the car straight to over the driver's shoulder. He felt Elizabeth sigh beside him, and for a moment, he felt her head on his shoulder.

"We'll go upstairs with them, and talk to them a bit first." Nanny was saying. "If they want to talk to the cops, at least to begin with, we'll call you up. But I wouldn't expect it."

"That's understandable. It's hard to report on your parents, even when they hurt you." Morgan replied.

"What's wrong?" Spencer quietly asked Elizabeth.

"She's not walking." Elizabeth replied.

The four newcomers reached the porch and then came in. The man who had been driving was easily Morgan's match for size and muscle development, and easily climbed the stairs with the slender young woman over his shoulder. The clearly younger passenger went up as well, his bearing rigid and cold. They were followed up by Elizabeth and Nanny, and the door closed behind them.

The fourth man, who'd ridden in the front passenger seat, turned to them with an open smile and easy manner. "Let me guess, you're the FBI guys. Sam Keillor." He offered his hand to both of them as introductions went around, and only chuckled a little when Spencer introduced himself.

"So, what's your story?" Morgan asked him. When Sam looked at him for clarification he added. "Why are you doing this?"

"Mostly for Danny, but anything I can do to throw a wrench into that system is payback for me." Like the rest of them had, Sam shed a number of layers of outerwear, and was now digging through the chicken, building a couple of plates.

"Why did you leave?" Spencer asked. "As I understand it, that system favors males; it's unusual for boys to leave."

"Depends on the boy," Sam replied. "See, back when I was sixteen I had a boyfriend. He made the mistake of coming out to his father, and his father beat him to death."

"The cops didn't do anything?" Morgan asked.

"His daddy was the sheriff." Sam replied. "That Sunday every man in the community stood up and pledged to do the same to any of their sons, including my father. I took the hint, stole three hundred from the old man's wallet and hitched a ride to the nearest Greyhound station."

She's right, Spencer thought, this theology is ruining lives. "So how did you and Danny meet?"

"Through Rabbi Shulman," Sam replied, sitting down to supper. "The Pastor at the shelter I was working at told me about what was starting up. I went to meet the Rabbi; he invited me over for dinner and a meeting, and there was Danny. That was, hell, five years ago." They heard the sound of the door opening upstairs. "We tell the ones just out that we're brothers." He said, much more quietly. "Getting out is enough to process at first."

Spencer looked up at the two coming down the stairs. The one he assumed was Danny had a face as open and easy as his lover. The younger man with him was nearly in shock. His eyes were miles away, and he was clearly in such fear that he was almost trembling. "Swear, your daddy's not going to find us here. We'll be okay for a day or so." Danny was saying. "Now there's chicken for supper, as much as you like. We'll take some up to your sister when Nanny says it's okay. Okay, this here's Pete." He said, by way of introduction. "Pete, I'm gonna assume these two are Morgan and Reid. They're here to take some notes and pictures in case your sister wants to go to the police later."

"They cops?" The younger man asked in a flat voice.

"Yeah, they are. But they're not here officially. They're just going to take some notes and pictures in case, if your sister wants." Danny carefully repeated himself.

Pete looked right through them for a moment. "Okay, you can go up."

"Pete." Sam said quietly. He waited for the younger man to look at him before he continued. "It's up to your sister to make those decisions now. She's old enough. You need to go up and ask her."

Pete blinked at them again. "They ain't gonna…"

"Nope," Sam replied. "They're all right. Hell, the skinny one here's courting Reverend Bess. She ain't gonna hold with no pervert."

Spencer tried to object, but he was sipping at his soda at the time, and choked. Morgan chuckled and slapped him on the back, hard.

Pete watched this with no emotion, "All right." He turned and headed back up the stairs.

Spencer had been reading Pete's body language, listening carefully. He's not a psychopath, he thought, but he could be. He's right on the edge. He looked over at Morgan, who nodded carefully. He had picked up on it too.

In the meantime Danny had been working on building his supper. Morgan looked over and asked him, "Okay, and what's your story?"

"Oh, my father was going to marry my oldest sister off to this guy in his forties. Sharon begged me to do something, anything, because she didn't want to be married to such an old man. 'Course I had a better idea of what marriage meant that she did, so I knew it was wrong. I went to our father and told him so. He tried to beat me for not honoring his wishes, but I was a little too big for that by then." Danny smiled over his chicken thigh. "I knew it wasn't going to go well for either Sharon or me by the time Dad woke up, and I had a car, so we took off for the big city."

"What happened to her?" Spencer asked.

"Well, she ended up marrying another guy who got out before us. He joined the NYPD; she just finished college this past year. She was gonna be a school librarian, might still, but a little problem got in the way. I'm gonna be an uncle here in another few months." Danny bit into his chicken, beaming with pride.

"Congratulations, man." Morgan said, raising his soda in salute.

"Y'all can come up." Pete said from the top of the stairs.

Morgan and Spencer headed up the stairs. At the top Elizabeth stepped out of the room, and right in front of Spencer. "No," was all she said.

"I've seen worse before," Spencer told her, gently moving her out of the way. "I'm the best witness they can have, you know that." He watched her turn away, her face a mask. Then he followed Morgan in.

The lantern filled the room with a harsh light. The young woman lying on her stomach on the bed had been wearing a somewhat shapeless dress that covered her from ankle to wrist to collarbone. Now her long curls were pulled out of the way, and her dress was open to her hips and pulled up to the tops of her thighs. She'd been beaten past the point of punishment to flat out torture, Spencer saw. Her skin was nearly black from the bruising and was criss-crossed with long, red welts.

"How old are you Martha?" Morgan was asking, in a gentle voice.

"Eighteen." She answered.

In many places the welts had split open and were trickling blood. Spencer could see that many of them dipped under where the dress was covering her backside. She was battered from knee to shoulders.

"Who did this to you?"

"My daddy," she replied

When Nanny moved to clean up another split Spencer saw Martha's side. It looked like whatever was used had wrapped around her torso, and dug many gouges out of the tender skin under the arm, along the side of the abdomen, along the side of the breast. Female convicts going to Australia used to be deathly afraid of enduring ships punishment, he recalled out of nowhere, not because of the effects on the back but because of the extra pain they endured when the tips of the cat wrapped around to the side and front.

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want to marry Lester Billingsworth, and I told him so."

Something was trying to make a connection in Spencer's brain. Something dark and cold was trying to climb to the surface.

"How old is Lester Billingsworth?"

"Fifty-two."

It was something Rossi had said? Or was it Morgan? Or did he read it? Why couldn't he remember?

"What did he hit you with?"

"A switch at first, then his belt for a while and then he got some phone cord from the wall."

Something snapped inside him. Leaving the interview to Morgan Spencer turned and left the room. Just outside he encountered Elizabeth waiting, just watching him, her eyes gone large and impossibly sad. He took her by the arm and tugged her around the corner, into an unused bedroom. Once there he pulled her into his arms.

"Spencer." she said, as a plea and an apology and a warning. But she didn't move, she didn't push him away as he tugged her shirt out of the back of her waistband and slipped his hands up under it. He'd never done that before, would never have dared, but now he gently ran his fingers over the network of scars that covered her back, that must cover her from shoulders to knees, he realized. How many times has she been the girl on the bed, he wondered, how many times was she beaten until she bled? The thought opened a pit of anger in him that he didn't know he possessed, made him want to howl for her.

"Don't think of that." She said, so quietly it barely broke the deep silence in that room. "I'm here and I'm alive. I'm not that anymore. Life is good now."

"I didn't realize…" He said, and stopped. She'd said it a few times, that Thorne had beaten her. But he hadn't realized what she meant, not like that.

"It was a long time ago; twelve years ago." She tucked her head under his chin, "Is it wrong to be glad it didn't happen you?" she asked.

Spencer held her very tightly. For a moment the scent of gardenias and supper and newly fallen snow was replaced with burning fish livers and human waste and the copper stink of fresh blood. He clung to her a moment, clung to the real and the here and the now. "It did." He said, very quietly.

Just then there was a tap at the door. "Uhh, oh, hey," Morgan's head just came around the door enough to see, and then pulled back. "Nanny needs the Reverend's help." He said.

Without a word, Elizabeth stepped away, her eyes clearly dark and wide and confused in the faint moonlight. She stepped away and then out to the room next door.

Morgan looked over at him as he stepped out into the hallway. "You okay?" He asked.

I have to tell her, Spencer thought, I have to tell someone. I do. "Yeah," he said. "I'm fine,"


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

By the time they got home it was late. So late it was early. Still, Elizabeth put the kettle on for one last mug of tea. There was something homely in that, Spencer thought, the heat and the steam and the gentle scents of chamomile and mint. He sat in the small booth behind her kitchen table and pulled his legs up and watched her putter. They hadn't said anything since he'd realized the extent of what had happened. He'd been too distracted, his body was sore, his head was throbbing, every part of him ached with everything that so wanted out. But he didn't want to tell her. He didn't want her to know. She carried enough of this poison, surely she must, and she didn't need to carry his as well.

Finally, eventually, she brought two mugs of tea to the table, and took the closest chair. "What are you thinking?" He asked when he saw the concerned look in her eyes.

Elizabeth smiled down into her tea.

"Thy sins and hairs may no man equal call;  
For, as thy sins increase, thy hairs do fall."

She quoted.

One of John Donne's epigrams, Spencer thought as he managed a half smile, "I'm not bald" he pointed out.

"Then whatever it was, you didn't do it." She replied.

"Yes, I did." He replied. "I just…" He breathed, just breathed as the house settled around them. "It was just over four years ago. There was a series of murders around Atlanta. The killer was recording them and putting them out on the internet. We were called in and JJ and I went to interview a man who had done some repair work on the victim's computers. He turned out to be the Unsub, To-Tobias Hankel.' Spencer noticed that his hands were shaking. "He ran and JJ and I chased after him. We thought he went into the barn, but he was really out back. His dogs nearly killed JJ, and, um, I chased after him in the corn field. He caught…he, uh, he caught me and held me in this shack for two days until the team found me." Elizabeth reached for him. He took her hand and clung to it, an anchor in the here and the now. "It turned out he had Dissociative Identity Disorder, DID, which most people know of as a split personality. It was him and his father, Charles, who as it turns out had read Thorne's book and used it on Tobias." Elizabeth made some small sound, maybe of horror, "and the angel Raphael."

"The archangel from the…" She made a small sound with little humor. "…Book of Tobit, or Tobias. But Raphael was supposed to be a healer."

"He was the mediator between father and son. He healed the relationship by making the father personality think that Tobias was killing sinners as he wished, but then he did the actual killing, sparing Tobias." He took a deep breath, "In the end Charles was going to kill me for putting Mom in the asylum. I had to, I…she couldn't care for herself anymore and it wasn't safe and…" Elizabeth shushed him, calmed him a little. "He made me dig my own grave and I managed to get a hold of his gun and I…I…I didn't want to hurt Tobias. He was…he was just trying to survive as best he could." His face was wet. Why was his face wet? "He was just trying to survive and I had to…I had to…" All that pain, all that pain that had been lurking behind his eyes and crushing his chest broke free, and his face was wet because he was sobbing, and Elizabeth was pulling him into her arms. Oh God, Tobias, he thought, I am so sorry. I wish I could have saved you.

He cried until he was done. It wasn't something he could have done in front of any of them. To them Tobias was an Unsub, a killer, the man who hurt, even killed their friend and made them watch. But in the end Tobias had become his friend, and now, finally, he could mourn.

He could mourn.

**Then**

**Abandoned shack**

**Rural Georgia**

"_Have you ever been with a woman?"_

_Spencer chewed the chunk of half rare, half blackened lamb and managed to work it down. He looked over at his captor, trying to judge if he was talking to Tobias or Charles. His very life could depend on his ability to read his captor's body language right now. "I'm sorry?"_

"_A woman, you know. Have you ever been with one?" The voice was light and easy, the tone conversational, the eyes both curious and shy. _

_It was Tobias doing the talking, feeding him, and keeping him alive. "Um, not really." Spencer answered. "Why?"_

"_Yeah, me neither. Father always said women were the root of all evil. He said to stay away from them as much as possible. I've even been afraid to talk to them at work, I'm afraid he'll think they led me astray." Tobias helped himself to a bite of the lamb. _

"_My Mom used to say the same kind of thing." Granted Mom had been speaking from an illness, not a perversion of the Bible, but the end result had been the same. "The one time I got close I freaked out so much I couldn't go through with it."_

"_Got close?" Tobias grinned. "Okay, now you've got to tell me what happened?"_

"_Have you ever heard of an actress named Lila Archer?" Tobias nodded, so Spencer went on. "At one point we were in LA and someone had been stalking her. They started killing the people close to her. We ended up working the case and I was assigned to guard her one night. I don't know if she was reacting to stress or grief or what but she pulled me into the pool with her." Something seemed to shift around in the room. At some point it wasn't dirty anymore._

"_Serious?" Spencer watched Tobias turn red, but he was also clearly fascinated. "Was she in a bikini?"_

"_Yeah," he'd started talking just to keep Tobias here as much as possible, figuring every moment that he was in control was another moment for the team to try to find him while he was still relatively safe. But there was something about Tobias, something he didn't quite understand. It might be Stockholm Syndrome, Spencer thought, or it might be that I'm still high, but I'm starting to like him. "Anyway, she pulled me into the pool and then she started kissing me. It was really obvious what she had in mind."_

"_What did you do?" Tobias asked, clearly fascinated. _

_The chains had gone somewhere, and the air no longer reeked of burning fish liver and blood. Spencer turned sideways on the chair, the better to talk, "Nothing." Tobias started chuckling and Spencer couldn't help chuckling along with him. "I kept hearing everything my Mom used to say about girls and what evil things they would do to you. That and I was working and we didn't know who or where the killer was so, you know, not a good time for a seduction. But yeah, I got that kind of close." _

"_Okay, you are officially the luckiest guy I know." Tobias said, and they laughed together. "I always wondered what it would be like, you know."_

"_What what would be like?" Spencer asked. The lamb in his bowl was the finest he'd ever tasted, and the late afternoon outside the window was gentle and sweet._

"_Girls," Tobias answered, turning red again and looking away a moment. "You know, having one, maybe getting married, making babies. I'll tell you, though, if I had a son I would never raise him like my father raised me."_

"_You wouldn't?" Spencer asked._

"_Nope, I'd try to teach him to have faith, but not to fear. I wouldn't raise a hand to him. And if I had a girl she'd be treated like a princess." Tobias looked out into the wilderness outside the window. "You can't be afraid anymore." He said, as the sun started to set and fill the room with a golden glow. "Would you do something for me?"_

"_Anything," he would, Spencer realized. He would do anything to somehow make this right._

"_Live." Tobias said. And then the room got brighter…._

**Now**

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

Spencer blinked into the light of the rising sun coming through the library windows. He'd cried himself out last night, and ended up sleeping on Elizabeth's couch again. Now he pushed Tiberus off, sat up, tried to get his bearings.

I can't be afraid anymore, I just can't, he thought. So I guess I must.

He rooted out his phone. The first call was to Morgan. "Hey. I'm not going to be in today, unless there's a call. Can you cover for me?"

"Depends on what you're doing." Morgan asked.

Spencer told him.

"I'll cover for you even if there is a call. You're down with a cold or something. Don't worry about it." Morgan said.

"Thank you."

Then he took a deep breath and made a second call.

**Private Office of Dr. Judith Messer**

**Washington DC**

After completing that little project for Jason Dr. Messer had quit the FBI. She had no desire or need to work within the system any longer. Besides, she had her research and ample private patients to fill up her time.

Today looked to be interesting, though. Someone named Mr. Smith had made an appointment just this morning, insisting it be today if at all possible, and blocking in three hours. And he was paying cash. This ought to be good, she thought, as her mind went over the possibilities for who it could be.

The one person she did not expect to see in her waiting room was Dr. Spencer Reid. "I don't want the Bureau to know I'm here." He said, by way of a greeting.

"They won't hear about it from me." She said, and held open the door to her inner office. "Shall we begin?"

**Office of Rev. Elizabeth Baxter, PhD**

**St. Martin's Episcopal Church.**

**Washington DC**

"Hey Thelma," Elizabeth said as she went in to work that morning. "Do we have a dedication for the High Mass on Sunday yet?"

"Not yet, why?"

"Put it down in the memory of Tobias Hankel."


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

It had been six weeks since he'd started seeing Dr. Messer every week, for the most part six weeks of getting to know each other, of him relating the bare bones of his history. She'd had him make a timeline of his life, of all things, and put the major events on it, school, work, the progression of his mother's illness, that sort of thing. If anything it had made the nightmares worse, but at the same time the headaches and body aches had eased. Now tomorrow he was going back and he was mildly uncomfortable at the thought, because it was time to go deeper, and he knew it.

But that was tomorrow. Tonight they were in Elizabeth's kitchen, which was warm and cozy against the cold night outside. It was after supper, she'd made meatloaf, mashed potatoes, a vegetable laden green salad, and sweet tea. Now he was washing dishes while she sat at the counter and watched. She'd tuned the radio to something soft and jazz, a quiet counterpoint to the conversation. "So, I want your opinion, as someone with experience." He said, taking a deep breath. "I, um, kind of screwed up my homework for Dr. Messer this week. How upset do therapists get when you do that?"

"They don't." Elizabeth said as she sipped her tea. "At least mine never did. They just figure they hit a nerve and want to dig there. What was the homework, if you don't mind telling me?"

"Um, I was supposed to ask you to do something physical."

Elizabeth flamed pink. "I beg your pardon."

"Not that." Spencer could feel the tips of his ears burning as he tried not to drop a glass in the sink. "You know, go ice skating, go for a swim together, something to become more sensate focused. I don't know."

"Yeah, that sounds about right." She swirled her tea, letting the ice clink a bit. "I wish you'd have told me, I would have taken you dancing."

"Dancing?" Spencer turned to look at her, his hands still in the dishwater. "I didn't know you knew how to dance."

"Yep, I started taking swing dancing lessons in college, back when my therapist gave me the same assignment. It actually turned out to be a lot of fun; I got kind of good at it."

Spencer frowned a little at that. "Isn't there a lot of acrobatics involved in modern swing dancing?" He watched his reflection in the kitchen window nod. "I don't think my knee would take that. What I've been doing with Morgan is probably as much as it can handle."

"Oh, I bet you could handle a slow foxtrot, something not too bouncy."

"A foxtrot?"

"Yeah, come here." She led him out into the foyer and turned up the lights. "Okay we'll start like this." She put his hand on the side of her waist, her hand on the point of his shoulder, and took his other hand in hers, holding everything at arm's length so he could see his feet. "Now, left foot step toward me, yeah, and now right foot step, yeah, now left foot forward and to the side with a little turn…no like this…there you go. And then right foot together. Now do it again."

Spencer watched his feet until he had the movements somewhat smooth, and they were awkwardly dancing around in a big circle. "Isn't there supposed to be a rhythm to all this?"

"Yeah, the first two steps are supposed to be slow, and the last two quick. Slow, slow, quick, quick." She got them moving in rhythm, and it seemed to get a lot smoother. "Now we just need some music. Hold on." She stepped away, opened the library door wide, and went to put on her stereo. Music filled the space, slow, big band stuff. _The Very Thought of You_, he thought, that was the name of it, off a BBC album. He always thought she listened to this stuff because it went with her truck.

Elizabeth came back and got back into position. "I put it on repeat. Now, slow, slow, quick quick, and try looking at me instead of at your feet." She got them onto the beat, and once again they were moving around the space. Spencer was starting to see the therapeutic value, having to move with the music and not step on her toes while not looking was an exercise in staying very present and very aware of his body in space. But…"I can see the value of this, but I don't understand why we were supposed to be doing it together."

"That's probably because we still haven't gotten it all down yet." She said.

"So what are we missing?" he asked.

"This." She stopped them, and stepped forward into his arms, moving his hand around to the small of her back, putting her hand on the back of his neck. "Now, you lead me around." And they started off again.

Within moments he was hyper aware of her, of every part of her that was resting against him, of how they were moving together, the soft music, the way she smelled of gardenias and then, as they moved, something heady and rich underneath, the softness of her curls under his cheek. It all came together to form one sensory wave that threatened to send him under.

The song rotated again and he bent down to nuzzle her cheek, to catch that rich, heady scent. Then he kissed her, long and slow, her tongue easily mating with his, dipping deeper than it ever had, and something heavy flowed over him, leaving him dizzy at its passing, and settling into a hard ache in his groin. He was getting hard, he realized, and it shocked him.

He broke the kiss to lay his cheek against her curls and step and turn. When was the last time this had happened? When was the last time his body reacted at all?

**Then**

**Abandoned shack**

**Rural Georgia**

"_What did you do?" Tobias asked, clearly fascinated. _

_Spencer was still chained to the chair, nothing had changed. This was memory, not a dream, "Nothing." Tobias started chuckling and Spencer couldn't help chuckling along with him. "I kept hearing everything my Mom used to say about girls and what evil things they would do to you. That and I was working and we didn't know who or where the killer was so, you know, not a good time for a seduction. But yeah, I got that kind of close." _

"_Okay, you are officially the luckiest guy I know." Tobias said, and they laughed together. "I always wondered what it would be like, you know."_

"_What what would be like?" Spencer asked. Tobias stuck a chunk of lamb in his mouth again, half burnt, half raw, but after two days hunger was a potent sauce._

"_Girls," Tobias answered, turning red again and looking away a moment. "You know, having one, maybe getting married, making babies. I'll tell you, though, if I had a son I would never raise him like my father raised me."_

"_You wouldn't?" Spencer asked around a mouthful of lamb._

"_Nope, I'd try to teach him to have faith, but not to fear. I wouldn't raise a hand to him. And if I had a girl she'd be treated like a princess." _

"_Good. That's good. I think I would too."_

_Tobias turned and looked at the door of the shack, as if he had heard something, although there had been no sound. He put the bowl down, gave Spencer a nervous look, got up, and walked out the door. Spencer heard voices outside, and he held his breath, but after a moment he realized that Tobias was arguing with himself, or rather with one of his other personalities. No, he thought, no, damn it, this cannot be good._

_The man who came back in gave off an aura of otherworldly calm. Raphael, Spencer realized, maybe he's going to try to kill me again. Maybe that would be better. But instead Raphael went down on one knee before him. "I am an instrument of the Lord." He said._

"_I know." Spencer managed to get out._

"_He sent me here to heal this world, to cleanse it of its sin."_

"_I know."_

"_I heard what you said to Tobias." Raphael's eyes were both distant and caring. "It is not good to be afraid of such things. In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. After all, no one ever hated his own body, but he feeds and cares for it, just as Christ does the church"_

"_Ephesians, chapter five, verses twenty-eight and twenty nine." Spencer managed to stammer out. "I don't understand."_

"_You don't have to be afraid." Raphael said, and then Spencer felt his hands on his fly._

_Spencer looked over at the camera but the light was off. That was the only good thing, that no one else would see this. He didn't think he could bear it if his friends saw. His stomach rolled as he felt Raphael tug him free of his pants. "I don't want this." He said. "Please don't do this. Please."_

"_Don't be afraid." Raphael said, and then there was nothing but wet heat everywhere._

_Spencer closed his eyes and tried not to feel, tried to force his mind away from the sensation of warmth and wet and movement, of tight and pulling and deeper still. It's an automatic reaction, he thought, like a sneeze or the hiccups. It's not something the human male can help. This is not how it's supposed to be, he thought, even if it's a lot like what Trent did to me, because that was just an automatic reaction too and oh god I want to be sick right now. Please make it stop, please make it stop. I don't want to remember this forever. Please. Oh please. _

_And then everything went white as for the second time in his life his body reacted without him._

_He was shaking when it was over, as adrenalin fought with endorphins and disgust and terror fought with the desire to relax and to love. I hate feeling like this, he thought, I hate feeling dirty over this. It's not fair, it's not right. And what's worse is that Raphael just did it to my friend too. I couldn't help either of us._

"_Now you know. Now you need not be afraid." Raphael slowly rose to his feet and left the room._

_I won't cry, Spencer thought. I won't give him or Charles the pleasure of seeing me cry, and I won't put that on Tobias. I just wish to God that I could forget. Oh, I want to forget. I want to pretend this never happened, that none of it ever happened that I'm not some freak human computer, that I'm worthy of better. But this keeps happening and I could be wrong. This may very well be the closest I ever get. It's not like it's something a freak deserves._

_A moment later, Tobias came back. He didn't even look in Spencer's direction, didn't look him in the eye. He just tightened the belt around his arm again. "This will help." He said, as he filled the needle._

"_I know." Spencer said. All of a sudden he wanted that deep, sweet heat of the drug filling his veins again, blotting out all the pain, taking away all the memories, making him remember and feel and forget all at once. He just wanted to feel good inside his skin. He didn't even wince as the needle slid home. "Thank you."_

**Now**

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

Spencer was shaking as the memory left him. He hadn't felt like this since that day, he hadn't reacted since he had to shoot Tobias, not even in the shower. He'd lied to Rossi. This part of him died in that shack, and now it was back and he didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to do. He was simply terrified; every part of him knew he was going to be hurt again as Trent did, as Raphael did, as he was hurt every time. He was going to be forced again to…to… He was going to…. He stepped back, not knowing that he had gone pale, that his eyes were wide with fright. "I'm sorry." He said in a too calm voice. "I'm sorry, I can't." He looked down and met Elizabeth's concerned, confused eyes. I can't, he thought, and where does that leave her? "I should go." He turned and headed toward the kitchen.

"Spencer, wait." She said, following him. He made it as far as the kitchen, had to lean over the counter and hang on before his legs went out from under him. "It's all right." She said. "You're safe here. No one is going to force you to do anything. You don't have to go."

He leaned over the counter, hanging on as his heart started pounding. His stomach was churning and the world was spinning and he couldn't breathe. Panic attack, some distant part of him realized. It would be over in ten minutes, more or less. But right now he swore he was dying. He felt Elizabeth pull him into a chair and force his head down between his knees to keep him from passing out entirely.

After a few moments it began to ease, at least enough that he didn't feel like he was going to die. "Thank you." He managed to gasp out. "I still ought to go."

"No, you don't have to go. You can still sleep on my couch all you want."

Spencer shook his head. "It's not fair. You deserve better."

He could hear Elizabeth sigh. "No, it's not fair, but there is no such thing as better. So tomorrow you talk to Dr. Messer, and in the meantime I'll finish the dishes."

He stopped her by grabbing her hand, finally lifted his head to look at her. "How can you be so calm about this?" He wanted to know. If you stay with me you're probably not going to have a sex life, probably ever, he thought, most women would not take that concept this well.

She brushed the curls back from his temple, that gentle gesture that always tore at his heart. "I'll tell you someday."


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41**

**Private office of Dr. Judith Messer**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

Spencer sat in Dr. Messer's window seat, looking at the traffic four floors below. He was holding himself, rocking slightly. He'd just finished telling her all of it, everything that happened with Tobias in that shed, and everything that, up until this moment, only he and a dead man had ever known. And now, although intellectually he knew she would remain a dispassionate observer, he waited for her to pass judgment. What kind of a sick freak she must think I am.

"So how do you feel now?" Dr. Messer asked in her calm voice.

"Confused," he admitted.

"Did you love him?" She asked.

Spencer considered a moment. "No." He replied. "Not like that. For all that my…problems have always been with guys I really don't bend that way." That was almost funny, he thought, in a twisted sort of way. "Tobias could have been…was my friend and I think on some level he wanted to offer me the experience he wanted and could never have. Only it wasn't something he was capable of, so it went to Raphael. Raphael always did the things Tobias couldn't do."

"You're not having any problem compartmentalizing this." She noted.

Spencer almost chuckled. "I could lecture for three hours on DID. Actually I have lectured for three hours on DID. But I don't think that's what you're looking for."

"No." She said. "So if this was such a good experience why did experiencing arousal make you panic last night?"

"I said I thought it was intended to be a good experience. I didn't say it was. It was actually uncomfortable to the point of being painful."

"Were you afraid something painful would happen last night?"

Spencer took a deep breath but didn't answer. On some level he did, which was utterly ridiculous, Elizabeth had never showed any interest in moving any further, had never put any pressure on him. Nothing would have happened last night, and yet on some level he had been terrified.

Dr. Messer watched him a moment. "What other experiences have you had?"

Spencer could feel himself retreating into his head at her question. He didn't want to discuss that. "Did you know there is no standard definition for human sexual behavior? For example there is no actual definition for losing your virginity. For women you would think the issue would be clear cut, the rupturing of the hymen, but the hymen can be broken for any one of a number of reasons…"

"Spencer!" She said sharply. "You're avoiding dealing with the question. Now stop and breathe and think about it."

Spencer stopped. He had been letting his brain run to avoid thinking about that. "Well, um, does having to have a nurse help you to the bathroom after you've been through surgery count?"

"It can if there was any emotion attached, such as embarrassment or fear." She nodded. "We'll consider that a negative experience. Go on."

"Um, I had to go through a decon procedure once. I can't say why, um, it was a national security case."

"Would you consider that negative or neutral?"

"Given how it hurt, I'd say negative." Spencer could feel the tips of his ears burning as she patiently waited for him to explain. "I really wished my parents believed in circumcision that day."

"Understandable." She said. "Go on."

Jesus, what did she want? "Back in my last year of high school Trent Hartman, he was the quarterback and the biggest bully, managed to run a knife through my scrotum."

"How did that happen?"

Spencer explained the incident to her. "It was difficult and painful, and having the nurse patch it up was remarkably embarrassing."

"What did your mother say about it?"

"Nothing," Spencer sighed. "She was having one of her bad spells by the time we got home. She wasn't capable of being all that supportive at the time."

Dr. Messer nodded and considered him a moment. "Go on."

What? No, I don't want to. "Go on what?"

"Spencer, every point of your body language is telling me that there's something else hiding in there. Now you don't have to discuss it, of course, but you know I'm going to say it would be for the best."

She's right, Spencer thought, if nothing else, just get it over with. The build up to next time would make it impossible. He picked up a pillow and held it tight as he began.

**Then**

**Chaparral High School**

**Las Vegas, NV**

_Spencer was about three-quarters of the way through the shoring process in the hot dumpster when he heard someone climbing the outside of the can. Then the top opened and Trent and two of his closest buddies glared down at him. "I don't want to cause a problem for the cafeteria ladies." Trent sneered at him. "I figured we'd come pack the trash a little tighter."_

_What does that mean? Spencer wondered. Then he cowered back as the three boys easily jumped into the dumpster with him. They were all over him, one of the grabbing his wrists and pulling them painfully high behind his back forcing him down into the pile. Another picked up a handful of rotting lunch and stuffed it into his mouth, forcing his hands around his head, holding it in place. Spencer had a mouthful of spoiled sandwich and mushy banana, none of which he could swallow, even if he'd wanted to, because the giant paw wrapped around his jaw made it impossible to chew. And if he tried to make a sound he would inhale and choke. _

_Trent fisted his hair and pulled his head up so he could look at him. "See, I figure the only little dickwad who would stop a guy from getting a girl is the kind of dickwad who doesn't think guys should get girls. Which means you're a little faggot, aren't you. But you're probably too much of a baby to know for sure, so we're going to show you exactly what it's like to be a little faggot. Then maybe you won't make the same mistake twice."_

_For a moment Spencer was confused. These three were clearly heterosexual, so how would they get it up to get into a guy? They couldn't mean…a moment later he was kicking and fighting by reflex as Trent started pulling down his pants. They did mean. His heart was pounding in sheer terror and he was fighting and struggling as hard as he could, but it was three on one and they were nearly men and there was no chance as his underpants came down too. _

_The one holding his head and the one holding his wrists were laughing as Trent threw him over his knee. "See, now this is what it's like. Pay attention." Spencer felt the air over him and then being pulled open, and then there was a burning pain and something was being stuffed in. It's trash, he realized, it's the trash and he's stuffing it inside me. It's inside me. _

_Spencer wanted to panic, to flee, to do anything, please let me get away from here, please make it stop, please, someone help me, please! His heart was pounding so hard that he thought it would leap free, and he wanted to retch and he wanted to cry but he could barely breathe. Make it stop, he thought, please make it stop. Then something in it, something in there that was firmer shoved against some spot and rubbed down and down and all of a sudden he was overcome by a wave of pleasure he didn't know was even possible._

"_Ewww! He is a little faggot! He just shot on me!" From a distance Spencer heard them laughing, their sounds of disgust, but he was too lost in the sensation to realize what it all meant at first. What had just happened to him? What was that? He felt himself falling; lying there in the bottom of the dumpster, utterly stunned for a moment, not even realizing he was free. Then a heavy work boot was grinding down on his penis and he squealed from the sudden pain. "If I ever see you and that filthy little faggot cock near us or any of the girls again I'll cut it off. You hear me?" Trent growled as he bore down on him. Spencer nodded, tried to push at him, anything to stop the pain. Trent released him, only to pull back and deliver a sharp, swift kick that caused a wave of agony that took him under._

**Now**

**Private office of Dr. Judith Messer**

**Washington DC**

Spencer just sat there, that pillow resting in his lap, his face wet. He'd never told anyone before. Even more so than before, he waited for the hammer of judgment on his innate perversion to fall. After all, who in their right mind would enjoy an experience like that?

"I am so sorry that happened to you." Dr. Messer said. "That's an awful thing to happen to anyone, most especially a child."

Spencer just nodded. She was right of course. But somehow that didn't help.

"In the course of your work, have you ever had to deal with a child victim like that?"

It was so vastly easier to think about work, to turn his mind over to details of cases and unsubs. "Robert Brooks. He was a victim of the Appalachia trail rapist. He allowed himself to be abused by the Unsub to protect his little sister."

"What happened to him when he was recovered?"

"We, um, got him to medical care and returned him to his family and then, um, got him into therapy right away. Individual and family counseling I believe."

"What happened to you after?"

**Then **

**Reid home**

**Las Vegas, NV**

_When Spencer finally came too he removed what he could as best he could. He was bleeding, he realized, and bruised and swollen. He felt sick from the heat and from the pain and from the lingering effect of whatever had happened to him. _

_And he still had to climb out of the can._

_He walked home, each step a burning agony, wanting only to curl up next to his mother and feel safe and comforted, as best she could. But by the time he got home his Mom had taken her meds, and was soundly asleep, snoring in the darkness of her room._

_Spencer went into the bathroom and started the shower. He turned to the toilet and forced himself to pee, by now only mildly horrified to see the bowl turn orangey-pink with blood. Then before the water was anywhere close to hot he climbed under the spray, wanting to get the stink of the dumpster and of Trent and of himself off his skin. Everything hurt; everything. But he scrubbed and cleaned as best he could, until he found himself sliding down to sit on the floor of the shower, his knees drawn up, crying. What's wrong with me, he thought, am I really that much of a freak? Am I really that different from every other human in the world? No one should have enjoyed that, no one. There has to be something wrong with me, there has to be. Mom is sick and so there's something wrong with me. Maybe that's why Dad left us both, he couldn't handle a sick wife and a sick son. At least now I know, I'm not really human. I'm the human computer, the broken sick freak. _

**Now**

**Private office of Dr. Judith Messer**

**Washington DC**

"But that doesn't make any sense." Spencer said, snapping out of the past.

"Oh?" Dr. Messer asked.

"That's an automatic reaction to prostate stimulation. It can't be helped. It's a sign of healthy development, if anything. There was nothing psychologically or physiologically wrong with him before or after that incident occurred. It was a violation that the reaction was forced on him without his consent and before he was old enough to handle it, but it didn't mean he was broken at all."

"He?" She asked.

"Robert Brooks." He said.

"We were discussing Spencer Reid, remember." She said.

Spencer stared at her a moment, stunned. She was right, of course. "Why didn't I ever make that connection before?"

"Because speaking out loud engages different parts of the brain, thus enabling you to make new connections." She replied. "You know that too. Speaking of connections put all this in a timeline for me."

Spencer thought back, "The time I was stabbed, the time at the goal post, the time in the dumpster. Nothing happened in college, thankfully."

"Nothing?"

"CalTech is known for its pranks and hazing, but thankfully none of it was sexual. The next thing was what happened with Lila Archer."

"The actress?" She asked.

Spencer told her about meeting Lila, about being dragged into the pool. "I was so frightened I chose that moment to tell her that her manager had been killed just to get her to back off."

"So you weren't enjoying it?"

"Well, yeah, I mean a beautiful girl in a swimming pool...but I kept thinking about my Mom and everything that happened and I didn't want her to know that there was something wrong with me."

"What was wrong with you?"

"I was enjoying it."

"And that was wrong? Like you just said, beautiful girl in a pool."

"I know, I…" Spencer stopped a moment, his mind gone blank as some connections reset themselves. "That doesn't make any sense, does it?" Dr. Messer shook her head. "What happened with Lila was completely normal, wasn't it?" Dr. Messer nodded. "You know, I'm going to regret that now." I may just have to regret not going for it then, he thought. Even though I did the right thing, I think it might have been for the wrong reasons.

"That's normal too." Dr. Messer said. "What happened next?"

"Tobias."

"Which we already determined was a negative experience. What happened next?"

"I met this girl on a case, Austen. We were passing out information on this Unsub who was hunting women in bars. I gave her my number, and ended up saving her from the Unsub later. We talked on the phone a few times, but when I went down there to see her again it ended up, um, not working out."

"What happened?"

Spencer took a deep breath. By comparison to everything else it really wasn't so bad. "She, um, was…wanted to have sex that first night and it, um, it was a little too soon and I didn't, um, rise to the challenge." Spencer felt his mind go a little blank again for a moment; "Which, now that I think of everything that had happened up to that point, is understandable. She was kind of aggressive, at least it felt that way, and I was afraid and we didn't know each other well enough to be able to communicate that. So of course it wouldn't work, right?"

"Exactly," Dr. Messer said. "So what happened next?"

"I was deconed a few months later, and then got shot. I spent most of that year on crutches, which doesn't make it easy to meet anyone. And that was when we were dealing with The Reaper…" And that had been eighteen nearly impossible months, and it still did not feel over.

"And now there's Elizabeth."

"And now there's Elizabeth." Spencer repeated. And she is turning out to be very different. "I have yet to feel afraid around her. Even taking last night into consideration, it wasn't the same thing."

"I realize that. Let's set that aside for a moment." Dr. Messer thought for a moment. "You know, except for what happened with Lila, some initial flirting with Austen and now your experiences with Elizabeth I haven't heard any positive experiences in there."

Spencer reviewed his life history again, just to be sure. "No, there really haven't been."

"All right, now I would ask what kind of literature you've reviewed that would show human sexuality in a cruel or negative light, but you would just point me to your case archives, I'm sure. What sort of literature are you familiar with that shows human sexuality in a positive, healthy light?"

Spencer thought a moment. "Does 15th and 16th century literature count?"

"Not in this case. All right, homework." Dr Messer got up and retrieved a folding crate from her closet. She went around the room and started filling it with books. "Here's where that intellect of yours can actually help speed up this process. It takes most of my clients up to two years to go through all this." She wasn't just taking from the shelves; she was taking what looked like fiction from boxes in the closet as well. "I'll e-mail you some links to some academic papers as well." She said, presenting Spencer with the now full crate.

He eyed the mass of books, made a few educated estimates. "What do you want me to do tomorrow and the rest of the week?"

She laughed. "First off, why do you think that Elizabeth isn't pushing you to engage sexually at this point?"

Well that was an interesting question. "I don't know. I assume it has something to do with her religious vows." Spencer told her

"The issue of premarital sex is good example of how the same Bible verse can be viewed in different ways. In modern English, _fornication_ typically refers to voluntary sexual intercourse between persons not married to each other. Given that modern definition, a verse that condemns fornication such as 1 Corinthians 6:9, which is often cited by various denominations as biblical opposition to pre-marital sex, would appear to be clear. However, in the New Testament, _fornication_ is the word used to translate the Koine Greek word _porneia_ into English. In Ancient Greek, the word _porneia_ meant "illicit sex" or "illegal sex". Early Christians interpreted this word to encompass activities such as: adultery, incest, and bestiality. Modern evangelical Christians tend to prefer the definition of premarital sex, or will even choose to broaden the term to also include activities such as homosexuality, prostitution, masturbation and pornography, while progressive Christians tend to limit the interpretation of the word to illegal sexual activities such as incest, bestiality, and pedophilia."

"So that might be an unfounded assumption." Spencer realized. "She's definitely in one of the more progressive branches."

"Your second assignment is to ask her, and to start discussing your sexual history, as much as you feel comfortable with, of course. But it's a way to build intimacy and reduce fear."

Great, Spencer thought with all due sarcasm. No, I can do that. "Is there a third assignment?"

"Keep dancing."

"What?"

"You heard me. It's a safe space, she's clearly a safe person, no one is going to force you to do something painful or against your will, so it's a perfectly healthy way to experience normal arousal. Go enjoy the dance."

* * *

Information on premarital sex and religion taken from Wikipedia. No copyright infringement intended


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42**

**Spencer Reid's apartment**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

While Spencer was in the cab he looked over the titles of the books he'd been given, at least the non-fiction. He'd immediately realized that he really didn't want Morgan to see him reading them. It felt uncomfortable, both admitting he needed them and in realizing that there was a chance that Morgan had read them at some point in his life. He didn't want to remind Morgan of things his brain might actually be processing out.

He had the cab take him back to his apartment, where he collected some clean clothing and swapped out a few items. It was Friday, Elizabeth was at the hospital tonight, and Morgan was expecting him at his place for dinner and to crash on the couch. At this point it was less because he needed it, although not being alone when the nightmares hit was still appreciated, and more an exercise in re-building trust. As long as he was willing to acquiesce to supervision he clearly wasn't using or wanting to go find a dealer. It was when he was transferring the books from a crate to a large backpack that the realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

I haven't heard any positive experiences in there. Dr. Messer had said.

No, Spencer thought, there was. Dilaudid.

He sat at his kitchen table as his mind went a little white around the edges as the new connections were being made. He found some paper and went over the physical and mental effects of C-PTSD, of low grade depression, of Dilaudid, what little of the Hankel case file the team had let him see, and finally….

"That I have to look this one up is telling." He said to his poster of Houdini as he searched for the right book. "What are the physical effects of exercise, of falling in love, of, well, a good roll in the hay anyway?"

He found the answer in some of his textbooks. Putting aside a mild amusement that there were answers to those questions, he looked over his hastily scratched notes and had to laugh. "Tobias wasn't just escaping his father." He said to Houdini. "He was self medicating! He was treating himself for the same problems I have in the only way he knew how. That's what he was sharing with me. And no wonder I went with it, it worked, which doesn't in any way excuse what I did, but it does make it understandable." And, he thought, I suddenly feel a lot less guilty. "I wonder if that's what Elizabeth mean when she said sometimes you have to sin to survive, maybe that you have to go with a bad choice, because you don't see any other choices in front of you? I still let the team down, that's undeniable, but I honestly didn't have any way of coping with my past and then what happened on top of it. That was the only coping method anyone had ever shown me; which now makes me wonder what she did probably to escape some particularly bad time during her stay with Thorne."

I am talking to a poster, he realized.

Spencer stopped, gathered his things, and headed for Morgan's place.

**Derek Morgan's apartment**

**Washington DC**

"Hey, what are you doing tomorrow?" Morgan asked him as he let him in.

Spencer figured the question probably had something to do with whoever was on the phone. "Um, nothing until 2, Elizabeth's working tonight; she'll be sleeping in tomorrow morning. Why?"

"We were going to get together in the morning, a little basketball."

"Um, Morgan, as much as I am starting to see the effects of all this exercise you've been having me do, I'm still not entirely comfortable with the idea of team sports."

"I know that. Will was going to come with us and JJ has been called out of town."

But taking Henry to the library was a completely different proposition, "Deal."

"All right," Morgan got back on the phone and started firming up plans for the next day. "Yeah, Reid's coming."

"Just have him bring the playpen." Spencer said.

Morgan nodded and went to answer the doorbell while still on the phone.

There was no way he was going to look at any of those books in front of Morgan, but before he left Dr. Messer's office he'd reminded her that he didn't have e-mail, and so had printouts of a number of academic papers. He settled at the tall kitchen table with them as Morgan came back in with pizza. It was the good kind from the Italian place down the street, and not some mass chain, and Morgan always insisted on paying for which he was utterly grateful, but for a moment Spencer had to admit he preferred Elizabeth's cooking. Which was doubly guilt inducing since she'd learned how in Thorne's house.

At some point Morgan had gone from talking to the guys to talking to one of his sisters. They passed the time mostly companionably ignoring each other while talking on the phone went to watching game highlights, and then eventually Morgan went off to bed.

As soon as his light was out Spencer pulled out the first of the books Dr. Messer had given him and dug in. It didn't take long, most of them were written for the non-academic, and only took a few moments to page through. He knew most of it, most of it advice and suggestions for victims of rape, of trauma; he'd just never thought to apply that advice to himself before. One of the academic papers did catch his interest, it had some interesting theories on the sexual response cycle. Masters and Johnson, he recalled, had first charted the human response cycle, beginning with excitement when the human body starts changing in response to arousal and ending with a resolution phase post-orgasm.

* * *

_An important addition to the HSRC occurred in the 1970s when psychoanalyst/sex therapist Helen Singer Kaplan insisted that sexual desire become the first phase of the cycle (Kaplan, 1979). She observed disinterest in sex as an important phenomenon, especially in her female patients. We now appreciate her contribution since so many presenting problems involve desire. The expanded HSRC is still limited by its linear phase structure and orgasm endpoint. Despite cogent criticism of the HSRC, on scientific, clinical, and feminist grounds (Tiefer, 1995), it remains, with Kaplan's addition, the template for understanding sexual dysfunction in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) (American Psychiatric Association, 1994)._

_A sharp departure from the expanded HSRC was offered in the 1980s by Joanne Loulan, a researcher in female bisexual and lesbian sexuality. Loulan (1984) developed a nonlinear female sexual response cycle that included the traditional sexual response phases but began with willingness instead of desire and ended with pleasure instead of orgasm . This model represents a remarkable expansion in conceptualizing sexuality based not just on physical response but as an experience consisting of subjectivity and agency._

_Loulan contends that people can decide to have sex not wait until they feel "horny." This offers a revolutionary option, especially for women who lose sexual desire over time in committed relationships. The willingness concept also gives hope to male and female survivors of abuse who often find desire an elusive, fraught experience. Willingness, for survivors, offers a sexual option that includes control, volition, and a way to communicate a cognitive or emotional desire for their partner when the body cannot. Loulan's model allows for shutdown at any point in the cycle and includes a definition of pleasure consisting of cognitive, emotional, and physical experiences. Armed with this model, therapists can help clients develop curiosity about their own phases of sexual response in whatever order they emerge, their own style of initiating sex drawing from cognitive, emotional, or physical sources, and their uniquely subjective definitions of pleasure._

* * *

Interesting, he'd never thought of it that way. And they hadn't covered it like that in any of his classes. Hopefully this adapted version would come out in the new DSM. Of course it was supposed to be a way of looking at the female sexual response cycle, but he rather considered that that was only a result of the narrow cultural view of male sexuality. In other words, not applying it to guys as well as girls was dumb.

Spencer set that one aside for further consideration, but the remaining non-fiction work held nothing new or of any real interest. Still, he read them and so could discuss them with Dr. Messer at their next meeting.

When he dug down into the smaller sized books, he found that she'd sent along a selection of erotica and pornography. Had it not been just after midnight he might have called her and asked her what the hell.

Well, no, he thought, it kind of makes sense. If the idea is to be exposed to aspects of human sexuality that are positive, non-violent, consensual, non-misogynistic and so on, then looking at writings about positive sexual experiences might have clinical value. If nothing else it's a balance to the latest serial rapist file to cross the desk, right? Granted I should probably not be looking at this stuff on Morgan's couch…

Spencer picked up one book after another and just paged through them to get an indication of what they were like. Graphic, he thought, and a little crude, more than a little in fact. And this is supposed to be the better quality stuff? Do they have to use language that would fit a police station locker room? Is this what is supposed to work for guys? Why is it not working for me? Maybe there is something wrong with me after… He stopped that train of thought and got up for some water.

Okay, he thought upon returning to the couch, if there is nothing wrong with me, in theory, then why is this not working? Is it too tame, have I been conditioned to only respond to violence and force? No, if that was the case I would have been turned on by a case file somewhere along the line. Well, then, what does make me feel good?

He went back over the books a little more closely, but nothing stirred the blood. Nothing stood out as more interesting than the academic papers he had been reading. There was no emotion in them, no real caring between partners, no love. There has to be more to it than just good sex on either side, he thought, whatever happened to romance? Does it have to be one or the other? Finally annoyed with the whole process he went to pack the books back up. I'll ask her at the next appointment, he thought, I must be missing something.

He had been. There was a small book he'd overlooked in the bottom of the bag. He pulled it out and found himself paging through a small volume of poetry.

* * *

_The better part of morning is_

_to lie waking and knowing she is near_

_and coming back_

_her face washed alive, her hair_

_brushed to comeliness and bright._

_.  
_

_When she eases the door open again,_

_almost sunrise flows through a pale ribbon._

_.  
_

_Her robe too is loosely tied._

_.  
_

_I slide away the sheet to make her space._

_She emerges from the robe_

_as gentle and sure as the morning sun_

_and I become the sky waiting on the day._

_

* * *

_

Spencer could picture that. To him it was clear that the poet loved the woman in his life, that they had history together, a romantic companionship. That was something that had been missing from the other writings. He'd seen Elizabeth, always fully dressed of course, first thing in the morning, her face rosy from washing, her curls glossy and hanging just so. If she came out in just a robe one day in the morning light coming through those old, rippling windows and…

Well, hello.

It wasn't much of a reaction, but it was enough to let him know that if he continued with that train of thought the reaction would continue as well. He stopped it there because, well, it was Morgan's couch and that was just wrong. It was reassuring though, just because you prefer poetry to Penthouse that does not mean you are broken, he thought, and there are ways of feeling good that don't involve drugs. Which I knew intellectually, but there is that and then there is knowing. I wish Tobias….

Regret is human too, Spencer thought.

Then he packed away the rest of the books, tucked that one into a pocket inside his satchel against a willingness to try again, and turned out the light.

* * *

Excerpt from _What is Queer About Sex?: Expanding Sexual Frames in Theory and Practice _By Suzanne Lasenza, PhD. Found at Family Process(dot)FindArticles(dot)com. 22 Feb, 2011. No copyright infringement intended

Poem is "A Simple Pleasure" by Joseph H. Ball. Published in _Intimate Kisses_, Wendy Maltz ed. Published by New World Library in 2001. No copyright infringement intended.


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter 43**

**Derek Morgan's apartment**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

_It was hot in the desert. The sky was the blue of copper ore, and the sun was the pure metal being poured over the land. The air burned the lungs and made your eyeballs feel cool when you blinked. It smelled of rot and blood and death in the desert, and there was no where to hide._

"_After all my years of experience," Rossi said, "do you really think I can't read a rape kit?"_

_Spenser turned away from Rossi just in time to see Trent standing up in the dumpster. "So this is where you were hiding her." He pulled Elizabeth out by her hair and dragged her free. _

_Spencer should see trash going everywhere. He could see the blood on her thighs, the bruises on her skin. One eye was swollen shut, he realized, and her nose looked broken. She looked up at him and mouthed the worse help and please and make it stop. He watched in absolute horror, anger and dread settling into the pit of his stomach and turning it as Trent pulled her up and back against him. "You didn't think you were going to tap this, did you?" Spenser's stomach churned as Trent leaned over and licked her ear. "No, she's all for us."_

"_Leave her be, boy." Charles Hankle growled in his ear as he pulled Spencer's arms up and back and held him tightly to keep him from running toward her, from stopping this obscenity. "This is what sinners deserve, you know that."_

_Trent hauled her near lifeless body out of the dumpster, dragged her over to the goalpost and tied her there while all the other kids gathered around and pointed and laughed. Then a tall man came around the post, a man in a black suit, with white hair and a neat white beard. He turned and looked at where Elizabeth was hanging, crying, bleeding. Spencer watched as he kicked her legs apart and closely examined the blood and the damage there. He reached out and the giggling Unsub from Youngstown, covered in blood and monstrously erect, handed him a thin, flexible stick of some kind. "Whore!" He cried out and lashed it down on her back._

"_No!" Spencer screamed as he watched her skin part under the lash. "No! No!"_

"No!" Spencer screamed as he threw himself off the couch, fighting to rescue her, waking himself up in the process.

"Hey." Morgan said as he came out of his bedroom and came over to help the younger man up. "Hey, it's all right. You're all right, it was just a nightmare."

Spencer looked at him confused for a moment. Just a nightmare? Really? But then his stomach decided that it had had enough. He pushed up, ran to the bathroom, and just had time to get the door closed and aim before the pizza returned to sender.

A few moments later he came out to find Morgan in the kitchen, puttering. "I thought you were over that." He said.

"I don't do this at Elizabeth's house." Spencer told him. "Maybe I'm allergic to your couch."

"Maybe it's that her house is on holy ground." Morgan countered.

"I thought you wanted to stop the horror movie stuff."

"You disrespected my couch." Morgan teased.

Spencer chuckled a moment, then just watched for a little while. "Have you seen the Thorne file?"

Morgan stopped and looked at his friend. "Yes, I have."

"Was it wrong?"

Morgan sighed. "She said it was. You ought to ask her about it."

I'm not sure I want to know, Spencer thought. "Dr. Messer said something similar."

"Well, there you go then." Morgan seemed to consider that the final word on the subject. "Do you want to go for a run this morning?"

Spencer's head was pounding and his chest was starting to ache. "Thanks, but no."

**Branch public library**

**Washington DC**

It was a little too cold to go out to the playground and swing on the swings or go down the slide. So while Will and Morgan and some of the other guys got some basketball out of their systems Spencer took Henry into the library for some story time.

Spencer always just intended to read to Henry, but before long he always had an audience, so then there was another story, and another one, and a couple of magic tricks, and then some toys to play with as well. Then there were some books to pick out to take home, and some kind of coloring project related to the Book of the Week and inevitably before the end of the third game he found himself in one of the comfortable chairs by the window that overlooked the basketball courts with a dozing toddler in his lap, using his shoulder as a pillow. By now he had even figured out how best to hold his own book while turning pages and not disturbing the sleeping boy.

It was just about that time when he happened to look up and spot a figure by the bus bench. A figure that was tall and scrawny with wild, dark hair and a beard. A figure completely naked, monstrously erect, covered in streaks and smears of blood. For just a moment, barely more than out of the corner of his eye, Spencer could have sworn that the killer from Youngstown was standing there, grinning and waving at him.

Maybe I am losing my mind, Spencer thought.

In the time he took to glance up, look back down at his book and look back up again he had had that thought and the figure he thought he had seen had vanished. What he did see was almost as horrifying, because that was Jace sitting at the bus stop. Jace who worked in his neighborhood. Jace who worked a few blocks down and over. Jace who always had a few bottled of Dilaudid for sale.

Truth be told, Spencer thought, I feel like hell today. Between lousy sleep last night and that nightmare and adventures in stomach pain and this headache, it's almost tempting. It is one way to make it all go away. I could just wave him over and no one would know. But there are better, healthier, saner ways of finding comfort. And someone has to show Henry that you can do that, that you can be as different as you want to be, and still deserve caring and still find solace. And Elizabeth would be so disappointed and she would be right to send me away.

Speaking of…

Spencer looked down at his watch. It was five to eleven. He pulled out his phone and made a call.

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Elizabeth**

_It was hot in the desert. The sky was the blue of copper ore, and the sun was the pure metal being poured over the land. The air burned the lungs and made your eyeballs feel cool when you blinked. It smelled of dust and sage and creosote in the desert, and there was no need to hide._

_She trailed her hand along the side of the massive boulder, feeling the heat that had stored up throughout the day. There was a quilt lying on the ground in the shade on the far side, where it was cool and the breeze went from oven hot to warm as it caressed the skin. There was a blanket and bottles of water and what else did they need?_

_She groaned slightly as she rested herself against the cool of the rock and felt him come up behind her. He was a creature of this desert, long and lean and spare as the cacti around them, built from the minimal materials, and yet rich and sweet within. She groaned as she felt the heat of his body through the thin cotton of her dress when his arms looped about her and pulled her to him. _

_Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde. She turned in his arms, her lips finding his, deeper and deeper still, finding sweet water in the desert. _

_In nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis. She tasted the rich salt skin of his neck, the faint stubble rasping against her lips, the scent of heat and sage, heady and warm as she felt those long, nimble fingers undo the buttons and begin tracing the bare skin underneath. _

_Et in noimine Jesu Christi Filii ejus, Domini et Judicis nostril. _Yes_. Felt him cup and brush and tease that tiny nub into hardness sending electric shivers through her and into her soul. _

_E t in virtute Spiritus Sancti. _Please_. __He lowered her to the quilt beneath them, eternally gentle as he kissed again, reassuring, promise. She parted her thighs for him, to allow him to stroke, to coax water into the desert, cool against all that heat. _

_Ut descedas ab hoc plasmate Dei, quod Dominus noster ad templum sanctum. __She reached down and traced him through his well worn jeans. He was already hard with wanting, so vulnerable and so alive. She felt his moan through her skin as she cupped him with the promise of more. __She rolled over, opened his belt, slipped her hands in to find him silken soft, found a single drop of moisture , a gift for the desert air. _

More_. Suum vocare dignatus est, ut fiat templum Dei vivi. Yes. She felt her hips rising for him, offering, benediction, as the desert heat slipped into her veins, all fire and promise and wanting.  
_

_Et Spiritus Sanctus habitet in eo._

_He rose over her, blocking out the sky and the sun…._

"No!"

Elizabeth groaned as her phone rang, pulling from her dream at just the wrong moment. That's not fair, she thought as she lay there trembling, not fair. She pulled the phone off the nightstand and finally caught it on the third ring. "Hello?"

"STAY, O sweet, and do not rise ;  
The light that shines comes from thine eyes ;  
The day breaks not, it is my heart,  
Because that you and I must part.  
Stay, or else my joys will die,  
And perish in their infancy.

Turn off your alarm clock." Spenser said to her, quietly.

She had to stifle he moans as his voice did nothing to ease the lingering frustration of the incomplete dream. If anything it just made it all the worse. I've never been to the desert, she thought, not in all my life. "I'd rather wake up to you reading poetry in my ear than the chimes any day, even though it's wrong and we're not parting" She managed to get out, hopefully sounding normal. "Good morning."

"Good morning. You're missing a trip to the library."

"Didn't we just do that earlier this week?"

"Not with my godson."

"Ohhh, then I am missing out. I see how it is."

Spencer watched Jace stand and then board the bus. "So, have anything special planned for this afternoon?"

"No. Want to come over?"

"Yeah."

"Anytime after two, mass will be over by then."

They chatted for a few minutes more, then Elizabeth heard the sounds of Uncle Derek and Daddy finding them and a toddler waking up. When she hung up she looked over at Tiberius, who she had kicked off the bed in the heat of her dreams and who was now sitting there, watching her. "I have to tell him." She told the cat. "I seriously doubt he'll leave, he's far too open minded for that. I'm just afraid he'll think I'm pushing him into something he's not ready for, and I'm not. I wouldn't, I know how that can be. But I really do have to tell him." And now I need a shower, she thought, a cold one.

* * *

Poem is _Break of Day_ by John Donne. Published before 1635 and no longer under copyright.


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44**

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

After the dream Spencer had had it was good to see her puttering about the kitchen at ease and unharmed. He let himself in the back door, letting out the scent of apples and spice, and smiled when Elizabeth looked up at him. "Hi." He said.

"Hi yourself, so when am I going to meet this godson of yours anyway?" Elizabeth asked as she put the kettle on.

"Soon I hope. Will and JJ like to have barbeques when the weather is warm. I know they want to meet you."

"Mmm, won't be until summer then, unless they have them on Wednesdays. As soon as the cherry trees start to take off we get into wedding season and my Saturdays are packed. I've got four a day every Saturday through the Fourth of July."

"What happens after the Fourth?" Spencer asked as he leaned a hip against her counter. From here he could watch her long, colorful skirt sway around her ankles, see the faint tracery of white lines around the edges of her tank top, the way the afternoon sunlight found the red glints in her hair.

"It gets too hot. There's a reason why we don't have AC in the main church. If we did I wouldn't have a Saturday free until the snow fell."

"Won't it be too hot for mass then?"

"We run a summer schedule, have high mass at 11:30, get everyone out of there before the worst of it."

"Oh."

Elizabeth moved the tea tray to that end of the counter, sugar, milk, spoons. "Hey, what's up with you?" She asked, brushing that curl off his forehead. "You look like you haven't slept in a week or so."

He caught her wrist, held it to his cheek a moment. I have to know, he thought, I shouldn't ask but I must. "No, just last night, what happened at Thorne's house?" Elizabeth stood there a long moment, not moving, as the entire city seemed to hold its breath. "I'm sorry." He said, letting her go, "It's not my business. I shouldn't have asked you that."

"No. It is your business. You have a right to ask."

Now that confused him. "How is it my business?"

Elizabeth moved back to the kitchen proper, answering the call of the kettle. "You have to understand what it was like in Bobby Joe's house. I never went to public school, Daddy and Granddaddy kept me in private school. It was year round so I could go as fast as I liked. That always stuck in Momma's craw, she was a follower of Bobby Joes's for a good three or four years before Daddy died, and he always preached that girls didn't need to study beyond the tenth grade, after that they just needed to learn to cook and clean and care for children since that was all they were going to do with their lives. Learning anything more would make them restless, proud and high strung. So it bothered Momma that I finished high school so soon and then Daddy was going to let me go off to college and be out from under his protection. "When I got to his house I found out that he didn't have any books, at least not out where I could get to them. There were some in his office that his sons used to study, but in the rest of the house the only thing they had was a copy of the Joy of Cooking. They didn't even have a Bible out free, Bobby Joe used to lead bible study so we all received the 'correct' interpretation." She passed a mug of tea over to him.

Spencer could not imagine a home without books. Even though he was trained in seeing the world through another's eyes, the thought of a home without any books at all was so alien that he could not envision it. "So did they just watch TV all the time?"

"No, they didn't have a TV, no books, no TV, no internet, no music, no fresh fruits or vegetables, no privacy, not even a bottle of hand lotion. I didn't even leave the house except to walk to church on Sunday, not even to take the trash to the cans. All you were supposed to do was work and pray and try not to get beaten, which happened nearly every night."

"Was that you specifically? What did the other children do?"

"Well, I was the oldest girl. He had one son that was fourteen, two years older than I was roughly, and then one eleven with his second wife, and then every fifteen months down to diapers. The next girl down was eight. She was still doing school work all day with the little ones. And the older boys studied with him in his office. But it was just Momma and I to take care of them all."

"How old were they?"

"When I got there?" She considered a moment. "Fourteen, eleven and three-quarters, ten and a half, nine, eight, six nearly seven, five and a half, four, three, twenty-three months and eight months. The last four were still in diapers and taking care of them meant diapers and potty training as well as cooking three meals a day for fifteen and cleaning an eight thousand square foot house, on top of all the schooling."

Spencer just stood there and blinked a little. The sheer size of that workload was staggering. And all of it was menial and repetitious, not something for the kind of mind... "Did the boys help, or did you have any kind of hired help?"

"No, it was our duty. And it was all women's work, beneath him and the boys."

Spencer was still having trouble working his head around that. "How did you stay sane in that environment?"

"At first I was too busy helping Momma cope. She was never the brightest sort, so I helped her get organized, get everything on some kind of a schedule, figure out how to teach the little ones. I couldn't do it, Bobby Joe was afraid I was going to teach them the liberal, socialist ideas I surely must have picked up in high school. And after that I taught myself how to cook, because I got sick and tired of ramen noodles, cold cereal and cream of soup casseroles."

Spenser nodded. He could see her trying to make the best of what she had. In her position he might have done much the same thing. "What did you do after that?"

Elizabeth sipped her tea, was quiet for a moment. "What does the FBI file say about me?"

"I don't know." Spencer told her. "When Rossi found out who you were he locked it in his office. He won't let me see it. That and I wanted you to be able to tell me when you were ready."

"Thank you." She set down her tea and moved to the coat rack, found a shawl and pulled it around her shoulders although it wasn't a bit cold, and stood there, watching the garden. "I suppose it doesn't really matter though. They were all gone before it happened."

"What happened?"

"I had a miscarriage."

Spencer looked at her, stunned. He had not expected that, not at all. It took a long moment for the implications of that to sink in. "I am so sorry." He said finally, "I…I can't imagine…"

"Spencer, stop, please." She seemed to want to reach for him just then, but held herself back. "It wasn't this huge horrific thing. I don't even remember it to be honest, I didn't even know and I couldn't have been that far along and I was still in the hospital after what Bobby Joe did so as near as I can tell Nana just had them drug me silly until it was all over. She told me after it was done. "

I think I'm supposed to be judgmental here, he thought, she seems to be expecting that. But she was a child…"Are you all right?"

"Physically? Yes, I'm fine; I had medical care right away and all. And psychologically I'm all right as well. I'm not still in mourning or anything like that."

It still didn't make sense though. "You said Thorne never…"

"No. I have to give credit where it's due, Bobby Joe never laid a hand on me, not like that." She chuckled a little, moved back into the kitchen to tend something in the oven, possibly as a pretense for not looking at him. "You know, I am probably building this up into a lot more than it ought to be. One day Momma was sick. Morning sickness but we thought it was the flu at first. Now I was never supposed to clean the boys dorm room, I might contaminate such a masculine space or something, but Momma was just too sick to do anything so I went in there to make the beds, and I found some pages ripped out of a magazine. I think it was _Cosmo_, or something like. They were hidden underneath one of the beds."

"_Cosmo_?" Spencer asked.

"Yeah, twenty-nine ways to improve your sex life, everything you ever wanted to know, that kind of thing." Elizabeth smiled a little at the utterly confused look on his face. "Hey, for them it was pornography."

Spencer tried to fight back a smile and failed. "I can imagine that you were just thrilled to have something to read."

"Oh honey, you have no idea. I did nothing but wipe floors and bottoms all day long without a single new idea to occupy my head. If I had been there I would have diagnosed myself with Adjustment disorder with depressed mood, almost to the point of self-harm. The only thing stopping me was that I only had access to the one kitchen knife and I didn't want to dull it further and get beaten for not chopping the onions small enough and burning them. And I was on the downward slope of puberty at that time as well, so my hormones were in knots. But you had to keep smiling, keep a pleasant countenance as Bobby Joe said, and keep a sweet attitude, or else he'd beat it into you."

"So what did you do?"

"There were about twelve or so pages there. I snuck one out tucked down the front of my dress. We couldn't even be alone in the bathroom for more than five minutes at a time, so whenever I could get a moment in there or in his store room down in the basement I'd read a paragraph or two. You know, when you're young and you have no place to put all that energy you're imagination can start working with that kind of thing."

Spencer nodded. Not that he had any experience, but from the books he had read the night before, the non-fiction, that wasn't at all unusual. "Did the owner of those pages ever notice?"

"Joshua, Bobby Joe's first born was sixteen then, I was just fourteen. He caught me with them a couple of weeks later."

"What did he do?"

"Nothing at first, and then he said that if I told his daddy he had them he'd tell him I read them and I'd get a whipping. I pointed out that that would mean that he'd have to admit to having them and then he would get a whipping as well." She smiled a little even as she didn't look at him; she clung to her mug of cooling tea. "Joshua was not all that bright. But I was miserable and I was so alone and that was the first truly independent thought I'd been able to share with anyone for years. So I…I asked him if he'd ever thought of doing those things with someone."

"What did he say?"

"He said he had, that he'd like to someday. So I asked him if he wanted to try that night." She paused for a long moment. "I asked him. He did not ask me."

Oh, Spencer thought. Oh. "How long were you two lovers?"

"About eight and a half months. And I wouldn't go so far as to call it that. We were friends, surely, but we didn't connect that closely. To this day I don't know how he felt but I was just sad and lonely and wanting to connect with someone somehow. If anything I was using him."

Eight and a half months, Spencer thought, the length of time of her mother's last pregnancy. "I assume Thorne found out, and that's what set him off?" Elizabeth nodded. "Did Thorne punish Joshua as well?"

"Oh no… no, I was the one who was just like my father. He figured we had just started that night, that I was the harlot who waited until her mother died to seduce and rape his firstborn."

"And Joshua didn't say anything?"

"No. He didn't have a brain or a spine, really. I'm still not sure what powered his nervous system. But he was not going to cross his Daddy."

Spencer was stunned. Not only was it all hopelessly unfair but the lack of…of…chivalry…"I think it would be best if I never met either of them."

"Well, we'll keep you out of Arkansas." Elizabeth sighed, and still refused to look at him.

Spencer considered her for a moment, even profiled her a bit as she turned to pull a pie from the oven. Given her background, the story she had told, and what her body language was saying right now… "I think you might be waiting for me to judge or condemn you right now, but I'm not going to. It's not that unusual, and given the circumstances not even unexpected. I have a friend who had to have an abortion when she was fifteen, and she didn't even have to put up with the lack of stimulation in her environment. She lived in Rome at the time. She was just lonely too. And Henry's parents still aren't married." He shook his head. "That sort of thing happens. You didn't do anything horrifically wrong."

"I know." She said to the oven.

"Well, given that, what I don't understand is why you never told anyone."

"At first I just wasn't up to it. And then they ran a rape kit." He watched her shudder with the memory, had to suppress his own reaction. That had to have been a difficult experience. "Afterwards everyone kept telling me how sorry they were that I had to go through something so awful, so horrible and so disgusting. All these respectable, educated women, up to and including my grandmother, all stood around for days on end telling me that I had been through the worst thing that could ever happen to a woman.

Spencer shrugged. "I can understand that. They thought you were a rape victim."

"I know that now. But at the time I didn't quite realize it. And I had just spent three days alternately being prayed over and beaten, all the time being called a whore and a harlot and the daughter of Satan himself." She turned to look at him, finally. "Spencer, I enjoyed what Joshua and I did. He may be spineless and stupid, but he was a good friend and a gentle man. I liked having a sex life, I am not going to deny it, I enjoyed myself. And here were all these upright women telling me sex was this awful, disgusting thing and these other upright women calling me a whore and a harlot, and you know, I ended up believing them, because that was clearly the only kind of woman who would enjoy it."

Spencer sighed. "Statistically only 48% of American women actually enjoy their sex lives, and I think only 28% said they enjoyed it from the beginning. So they probably just didn't have a clue."

"Oh, I know that now. But at 14 with a concussion and a broken nose it was a lot harder to realize. So I decided to just shut my mouth and keep that bit to myself. I figured eventually it would blow over when everyone left. Starting with the FBI, you people are persistent, you know."

"Especially Rossi," he nodded. "So you never told anyone?"

"Everyone assumed it was Bobby Joe. I pitched a fit when they wanted to run a DNA test on the fetal remains, mostly because I did not want that man to know he almost had a grandchild."

"No, that would have been bad."

"And after a while we were being harassed so much anyway that we went to Cambridge and no one up there knew except Nana. Granted she managed to bring up how horrible it was nearly daily. Apparently Daddy did not take after Granddaddy."

"This kept the psychological injury from healing. Did you ever tell the church?"

"I didn't have to. Nana did. Well, Nana told Harry when I applied to the Seminary. She wanted to be sure it wasn't going to come up later and ruin my career after I put so much work into it. Harry considered me a victim, and didn't see that as an obstacle to entering the priesthood."

"You were a victim."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Not of all of it. I consented, Spencer. That part is mine." She took a deep breath. "Anyway, one day, not long after she was gone I hit a patch of ice outside the library and cracked my tailbone going down the steps on my behind. I couldn't sit down for three weeks. I was terrified of going to the clinic because I knew they would see my scars and see that I had been beaten for a whore and that would be the end of me and the priesthood. That was the day Harry told me he knew, and that he wasn't going to tell anyone but that if I wanted to stay in the program I had to go into therapy. And between that and getting my Masters in Psychology I was able to work out that I was just a normal girl in a bad situation and that, if anything, I was lucky enough to have a good introduction to my sexuality."

"Is that why you volunteer at the hospital?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "I figure I owe Him the work, most women are not as blessed as I've been."

Spencer frowned. "I would hardly call being beaten or losing a child being blessed."

"I consider them separate incidents. And just so you know," she said, turning to start washing the dishes, "there hasn't been anyone since."

"Oh." He wasn't even going to ask that. But there was one thing that still wasn't answered. "So, everyone thinks that the rape kit came back positive because Thorne was sexually abusing you, and that you miscarried his baby. Thorne thinks that he caught you the one time you had sex with his son, and doesn't know about the miscarriage. But no one knows about the entire relationship except you and Joshua, correct."

"Yeah, that's right." She nodded.

"So why is it my business?"

"Well, um, I…um…" She'd been facing the sink, not looking at him. It took him a moment to realize she was blushing. He could feel the gravity in the room double and double again as he realized why. Oh.

Oh.

He looked down into his nearly empty mug. Lovers, he realized, expressing willingness, perhaps even desire. And she's choosing me. He took a deep breath, "I'm not ready for that." He admitted.

"I know." She said. "I'm not asking."

"But I'm working on it." He told her.

"That's good."

"In time I…"

"I can be patient."

Spencer sighed, relaxed a little. She wasn't running away, she wasn't judging. "Thank you. He met her eyes in the reflection in the kitchen window and she smiled.

Lovers, he thought. Is sex not communication? If you start by sharing your secrets, trust that they will be gently kept, is that not… "So, when I was in high school there was this guy, Trent Hartman…"


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter 45**

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

Somewhere in all of the telling supper had been eaten. Somewhere in all of the telling they had moved to the library. Somewhere in all of the telling they ended up curled together on that big cushion in front of the fire.

"Do you know what I wish?" Elizabeth said ever so quietly when he was done.

"No." Spencer replied from his comfortable position, sprawled in front of the hearth, his head in her lap.

"I wish I could hop into the nearest police box, go back in time, wrap you up in soft wool and tuck you away in my sock drawer for safe keeping."

"That's all right. I wish I could go back and be there with you."

"Why on earth would you want to live in Bobby Joe's house?"

"Because I would have read you poetry instead. Less dangerous that way."

"Would you?" She smiled and brushed that curl off his forehead. "No books, remember."

"No need." He caught her hand, held it to his temple, closed his eyes a moment.

"I WONDER by my troth, what thou and I  
Did, till we loved? were we not wean'd till then ?  
But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly ?  
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den ?  
'Twas so ; but this, all pleasures fancies be ;  
If ever any beauty I did see,  
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

And now good-morrow to our waking souls,  
Which watch not one another out of fear ;  
For love all love of other sights controls,  
And makes one little room an everywhere.  
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone ;  
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown ;  
Let us possess one world ; each hath one, and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,  
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest ;  
Where can we find two better hemispheres  
Without sharp north, without declining west ?  
Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally ;  
If our two loves be one, or thou and I  
Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die."

"Ah." She said with a smile. "I forgot."

Spencer lay there a long moment, simply savoring the heat of the fire, the feel of her so close. "What I don't understand is how just telling someone about what happened eases physical pain."

"I'm not sure." She said. "I think it's because emotions are physical. Holding them back is a physical activity. Eventually your muscles just get tired. When you tell and let yourself feel you can relax them."

"That makes sense." For all that he had found himself literally crying at times as he told her, he was certainly relaxed now. She did not judge, had not condemned, did not run or push him away in disgust. Only listened and held and now was there. This is what safe is, he thought, this is what home is. Never forget this. "I didn't believe that having someone else know would be all right like this."

Elizabeth nodded. "I didn't believe that either, ever."

There was a question he had that went along with that. "There were two girls I met, at different times, and they both were interested in, well, sex right away. How come you weren't?"

She shrugged. "By the time I realized there was nothing wrong with me I was already doing my clinical work at the campus counseling center and through the Chaplain's office. I saw first hand how sex without good communication and true trust can cause people to hurt each other. I decided to wait and have a friend first, someone I knew I could trust. And now it's because everything you told me had an aspect of control in it. You need that back, whereas I'm all right with waiting."

"In that case I am honored, and grateful." He had been holding her hand this entire time, now lightly kissed her wrist. I'm still afraid to be that, he thought, but I'm also curious and this feels very safe. "Teach me something?"

"Something?"

"Something small."

She smiled down at him, "The great auricular nerve."

Well that was interesting. "The great auricular nerve originates from the cervical plexus, composed of branches of spinal nerves C2 and C3. It provides sensory innervation for the skin over parotid gland and mastoid process, and both surfaces of the outer ear. Although this nerve is frequently referred to as the "greater" auricular nerve, this is not the proper nomenclature since there is no "lesser" auricular nerve. Great refers to the distinction between it and the Auriculotemporal nerve, which is the less influential of the two. What about the great auricular nerve?"

In response she gently stroked under his ear, sending a flood of heat down to curl around his groin. All of a sudden, everything pulled in to sharp focus, from the crackling of the fire to her sweet, rich scent to the feel of the pillow under him. She stroked right along the great auricular nerve and did all that to him, whoever would have thought. He reached up and cradled her hand in his again. "Can I stay here tonight?"

"Of course."

"No, I mean like here, on this pillow." Because I don't want this to end.

"That's between you and Tiberius."

* * *

The next morning Elizabeth was cooking breakfast, eggs, oatmeal, juice. Spencer was back from his run, used her shower, came out with his tie loose around his neck. He looked at her standing there, so fresh with the morning. Before he had a chance to think about it too much, before he had a chance to tell himself he was a freak who could never be capable of such a thing, of making it smooth, or making it work he stepped up behind her, in a way he had hugged her before. Before he could talk himself out of it he dropped his head and placed a gentle kiss along her great auricular nerve. "Good morning." He said right there, so it would whisper across her skin.

He was deeply pleased by the way she tipped her head to give him access, by the small sound she made that was so like a purr. "Fast learner," she said. "Good morning."

Maybe I can do this, he thought, maybe I can.

**Gulfstream 500**

**Southeastern US airspace**

"Is that the one where they fly around in the phone booth?" Seaver asked him

"First of all, it's a police box not a phone booth." Reid told her. "Second of all, Dr. Who started a quarter of century before Bill and Ted even went on their bodacious adventures so really they should just call it Bill and Ted's excellent rip off, I mean at least then..."

"I'm really sorry." she interrupted.

**"**For what?"

**"**Asking," Seaver turned and wandered off to the other end of the plane.

Spencer watched her go, and then went back to his own seat, pulling the book on migraines out of his satchel to get to the rest of the contents and contemplating his other options. At one point that bit of rudeness would have bothered me for days, he thought, I would have wondered what kind of freak can't even carry on a conversation with a coworker. But I am not a freak and clearly it's her problem. Elizabeth would have agreed with me.

Morgan moved to sit across from him. "Ignore her."

"I am." When Morgan didn't say anything he looked up and smiled. "Elizabeth is also a Dr. Who fan, although she thinks David Tennant is the best doctor." Now that he'd never understand.

"Why am I not surprised?" Morgan said. He looked at the big, blue book on the table. "What's this?"

"Cover." Spencer replied. "I figured I ought to be able to recite back some information if asked."

"Hmmm," Morgan looked up. "You look like you're feeling better though." He seemed to consider him a moment. Then he grinned. "Am I missing something here?"

Spencer pulled out the book of poetry he had been careful to cover before packing. "A gentleman would never kiss and tell."

Morgan was still grinning, "Right."

**Municipal Marina**

**Lafayette Parrish, LA**

Spencer stood beside the dock and watched Sammy comfort his mother through a haze of pain. The bright Louisiana sun was reaching through his sunglasses and through his eyes and scraping layers of grey matter off the surface of his brain one painful millimeter at a time. There was something about that boy, he thought through the ache, he communicated with me. It wasn't with words, it wasn't even with body language, but when he took my hand and taught me to play he was introducing himself and asking for help and telling me what I needed to know, all at once. Would the world be better without him? Was it cruel to bring him into this world? Why am I asking myself this? Why do I have this headache now? Why?

I want to learn to play piano, he thought as the headache tried to intensify, and I want Elizabeth and I want to go see Henry again and soon. Would it be right for someone to take the risk of bringing a child into the world if there was a six percent chance of him ending up like Sammy? Would that really be so bad? If his parents had said yes who would have taught me to play? Is the world not better for having his music in it, even though his life will be more difficult than the rest?

What is wrong with me? What is wrong with me?

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

Spencer frowned as he walked up the back porch of the rectory, knocked by way of warning, and let himself in. "Since when do you have surveillance cameras around here?"

"Since this afternoon," Elizabeth told him. "Really since William Patterson decided to throw some vestry funds his nephew's way. The pot roast is still warm. What is that?"

"A keyboard," he grinned at her. "I think I learned how to play."

* * *

Poem is _The Good-Morrow_ by John Donne. Written prior to 1635 and no longer under copyright

Some dialog from _Criminal Minds_ episode 6:16 "Coda". No copyright infringement intended.


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter 46**

**St. Martin's Church Hall**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

For all that he still didn't dare sit through mass, Spencer outright loved the coffee time afterward. St. Martin's attracted more than its fair share of academics, mostly the ones who preferred a cozy community type of church than to see and be seen at the National Cathedral. This meant that the coffee hour had the feeling of a small reception at the faculty club at an Ivy League university, with the corners populated by professors discussing the latest research in their specialties, or someone or others most recent paper, or comparing notes on some bit of esoterica. He had loved the days when he was a research fellow back at CalTech, even though back then he had really been too young to engage in the conversation. Now he could stand there as a peer and not have to slow down so the rest of the conversation could keep up. As much as he loved his team, his family, being able to stand there with, coffee in hand, and socialize with people who were not cops brought a much needed balance back to his life.

Technically Elizabeth wasn't the hostess here, a concept which had mildly surprised him. She seemed to be something more along the lines of an honored guest, one to whom everyone wished to speak and upon whom every delicacy was presented. She circled the room speaking with everyone, making everyone feel welcomed and heard and part of the community as a whole. In her long black cassock with her curls pulled back behind her ears and cascading down her back he considered her an absolute beauty and often found himself distracted from the conversation for a moment by the sight of her movement.

But then, this Sunday, something different happened. Later, much later, he would realize that it was because she told him her story, or perhaps because of meeting Sammy, or perhaps some spot of growth finally hit in his brain, but when a young mother came in and Elizabeth obligingly lifted the baby into her arms for a moment, the sight of her cradling an infant very nearly stopped his heart. He could not tear his eyes away, not even for an instant. What is happening to me, he thought. "I'm sorry?" He said to Dean Reynolds.

"I believe Dr. Reid was a bit distracted." Dr. Mickmas said, with a knowing smile.

"I asked if you were related to the Dr. Reid who published a paper on Margery Kemp in _Traditio_ back in 1991." Dean Reynolds asked again.

"Yes, that was my mother's work." Spencer replied, finally able to tear his eyes away as Elizabeth passed the baby back. I wonder how she would look with Henry in her arms, he wondered as he automatically carried on the conversation. I wonder how she would look with….

His heart started pounding as he skirted the edges of the thought. He turned back and focused on the discussion again.

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

"All right my darlings, we have a new case." Garcia sang out. "Cast your noble eyes on the middle of nowhere in Arkansas, specifically Atkins, Arkansas." She clicked the mouse and up came pictures of the bodies of two young women and one young man, naked and bloody and lying in the dirt. "Molly Braun, 16 Timothy Braun, 17 and Justice Paterson, 17. Molly and Timothy went missing a month ago and were found last week, Justice went missing three weeks ago and was found yesterday. Both girls were raped repeatedly; Timothy was beaten repeatedly, and all three had their throats cut."

"Atkins, Arkansas." Rossi murmured, looking over at Spencer. "That's Pastor Thorne's neck of the woods. He's not usually a man who likes to involve the FBI in his business."

Spencer didn't say anything. He might have to skip this case, but that was a privilege they had due to the nature of the work, so long as they didn't abuse it. No one would hold it against him.

"Well, when the bodies started turning up they changed their minds." Garcia clicked and twenty pictures came up on the screen. Heavily skewed toward women, but there were a few men. "These are all the missing people out of that community over the past eight years. They never reported them because they thought they were all runaways, but now that there are bodies they're thinking differently and want our help."

Spencer frowned at the board. "Some of those are runaways." He told them. "Some of them either work with or volunteer with the battered women's network Elizabeth volunteers with. I recognize at least five of them. The one top left…"

"Nannette Bryson." Garcia identified her. "She's the oldest reported missing."

"…is currently an RN over at Georgetown. Not the next one but the next two…"

"Sam and Sharon Keillor." Garcia said.

"We met Sam and his partner, Daniel Marks there on the end, at their safe house. According to Sam his sister Sharon is married to an NYPD detective, just graduated NYU and is expecting." Morgan said. "And down in the bottom row Pete and Martha…"

"Peter and Martha Johnson." Garcia said.

"Were on their way to New York when we left." Morgan and Spencer looked at each other, and then Morgan fished a data card from his pocket and slid it across the table to Garcia. She put it in the computer and brought up the pictures of Martha.

"Is that…a body?" Seaver asked, clearly as shocked as the rest of the team.

"No, she was alive when we left." Spencer said. "She claimed her father did that to her because she refused to marry the man he's chosen for her, but she refused to press formal charges. These people are on the run for a reason. If they're found they're going to be stalked and harassed at a minimum and their risk of being kidnapped and assaulted is high."

"The question is." Rossi said, "Which ones are free and which ones are being held by an Unsub?"

"I think I know who to ask." Spencer told him. "As I understand it most of them relocated to areas in and around New York City. A Rabbi Ben Shulman actually funds and organizes the network. He should be able to identify each runaway and give us contact information."

"All right," Hotch said. "Reid you and Morgan go to New York first and interview Rabbi Shulman, then meet up with us. The rest of us will fly out to Atkins and start looking for our Unsub. And remember, as far as the local PD is concerned everyone on this list is still a potential victim, regardless of what they find in New York."

**Rabbi Shulman's home**

**Brooklyn, NYC**

"Come in. Come in." Rabbi Shulman smiled as he closed the door behind them. He was in his late 40's maybe, large but trim, with a closely trimmed beard. The house was light and airy, all white walls and tribal rugs over the wood floors with books everywhere not occupied by children's toys. From the sound of it there was a party going on somewhere.

"Um, we're sorry. We didn't mean to intrude…." Morgan began.

"No, no, this is the perfect time. Most of the people you were asking about are either here or on their way. We're having a bit of a celebration, and you're more than welcome to join." He led them up a couple of steps and around the corner to a dining area where a party was already clearly in evidence. There was a cake and some streamers and an excess of food, and a small flock of young women enjoying themselves immensely. "This is my wife, Abira." The Rabbi said, introducing a slightly older woman, "Our daughter Sarah and our son Adam." He introduced the two children in the room, "And, oh, introduce yourselves." He said as the doorbell rang. "I'll be right back."

The two men turned toward the party. "Um, look, I'm Agent Derek Morgan, this is Dr. Spencer Reid; we're with the FBI. We have a few questions, sorry about crashing the party."

"That's all right." Abira said. "Ask what you need to ask. I doubt it will be anything too depressing."

"Um, actually we're investigating an outbreak of missing persons reports from Atkins, Arkansas," Spencer said, then winced as the party completely died and everyone in the room turned to look at him with wide, scared eyes.

"Stop worrying. He's the one Reverend Bess has been seeing," said a male voice behind them. Spencer and Morgan turned to see a man smiling at them. A man in a familiar cut of off-the-rack suit with a badge on his belt, accompanied by a woman visibly pregnant. "Bobby Preston, NYPD. This is my wife, Sharon." He said as they all shook hands and the party gave a sigh of relief and resumed around them. "So what, the old bastard decided to get the FBI involved?"

"Look, can we talk to you and the Rabbi somewhere else?"Morgan asked.

"Sure." The Rabbi had rejoined them, and the four men stepped back to the living room, where Morgan could spread the pictures out on the coffee table.

Morgan explained the case, how the bodies were found, how now they had reported everyone missing. The Rabbi murmured prayers for the dead while Bobby looked everything over with a professional interest. "Well, you can eliminate me right off." He said, picking up one of the pictures and holding it up. Even after eight years the resemblance was still clear. "I'm sure you know Nanny, and Sharon and her brother, and Danny….one by one they eliminated many of the pictures, mostly by holding them up and pointing to women in the other room. "We can pull the rest up on Skype if you need to; they're all up in the Boston area."

"No, that's all right." Morgan said, "What about these three?"

Both men shook their heads. "You will have to check with Sam and Danny, but the names are not familiar." Rabbi Shulman said. "They did not come to us."

"All right," Morgan said. "Look, as far as Thorne and the sheriff out there know you guys are still missing. They won't hear anything else from us."

"Thank you." Bobby replied, "For all of us."

"What are you all celebrating, anyway?" Spencer asked.

"Suzanne Botkin," Rabbi Shulman leaned down and pulled a picture from the pile, then gestured toward the dining room. "Three years ago she was a beaten, illiterate rape victim who had been 'married' off to a man three times her age. Today she received her acceptance letter from Brown University."

Spencer was impressed. "That is something to celebrate."

Just then the doorbell rang again, and Pete and Martha came to join the party, accompanied by a younger Jewish couple. Rabbi Shulman made the introductions then walked them into the party. "Ayla and Gadiel are recent immigrants", Bobby told them quietly, "former Israeli Defense Forces. The girls usually stay with them the first few weeks. If someone does follow them up here they can handle anything that comes up."

Spencer had followed them a little, noted that Pete no longer looked to be in shock, no longer looked to be on the verge of breaking down. And Martha was moving easily, clearly no longer in pain, and smiling, even if her smile was shy. "Are they in any kind of treatment?" He asked quietly.

"Therapy three times a week." Bobby said. "And they're working on their GED's already. Martha's been under a doctor's care."

I honestly think Pete was on the verge of a psychotic break, Spencer thought, I think they…we caught an Unsub before he became an Unsub. I think it might be the best victory I've seen to date. He turned to Morgan, and saw that he was smiling too.


	47. Chapter 47

**Chapter 47**

**Unincorporated area**

**Outside Atkins, AR**

It was late when they pulled up to the Sheriff's substation just as Spencer's phone rang. He didn't recognize the caller. "Hello?"

"What Up, Doc?" Danny said. "Bobby P. said we needed to call you."

"They've found three bodies near Atkins, and three more are missing." Spencer told him after he switched to speaker so Morgan could hear as well. "We need to find out if they're in your pipeline."

"Got names and pictures?"

"Faith and Josiah Harper and Hope Bowman," Spencer quickly sent the missing children's pictures to their phone.

A moment later Danny was back on the line; "Nope, never heard of them before. I can have our local contact from that area contact you to confirm it."

"Any chance someone could be posting as a conductor, maybe promising to move them?" Morgan asked.

"Could be, these kids don't move unless there's a good God damned reason, they're too scared otherwise. Find out what was going on with them and you'll find out if they could have been vulnerable like that."

Morgan nodded. "Who would they trust to get them out?"

"Someone in the church who has reason to disagree with Thorne," Danny replied; "usually someone who lost a sister or wife or daughter."

"All right, where can we get a hold of you?"

"This number, we'll keep this phone now until you're done."

* * *

They met up with the rest of the team in the conference room. None of the locals appeared to be around except for a desk sergeant who was clearly distrustful and keeping to his desk. "What did you find?' Hotch asked.

"All but three." Morgan said quietly as Spencer went to shift the pattern on the board to reflect this in a way only the team would understand. "Bobby Preston is NYPD now. Rookie detective but his CO has only good things to say. He confirmed the ones we didn't lay eyes on."

"This still leaves us with three." Hotch said.

Spencer looked over. "We spoke with most of the people in the chain between here and New York, none of them have heard of Josiah and Faith Harper or Hope Bowman."

"Most of the people?" Rossi asked.

"They said they were going to call their local contact and have them contact us." Spencer turned around and looked at the impossibly thin files. "We've been working on a theory that victimology is going to play a major role in this one. The Unsub may be posing as a 'conductor', contacting young people known to have been put in a difficult position by their families and wanting to leave but not having a way out. Instead of hooking them up with the network he takes them to a secure location. But that theory presumes that all the victims would have had a reason to want out."

"And that means interviewing people inside Thorne's congregation, including him. Are you up for it?"

Spencer frowned at that. "I didn't think I would be the one interviewing him."

"Oh no," Rossi said. "I'll interview Thorne tomorrow, I did the last time. But he won't allow recording devices in there, so if you're up to it I want you to sit and listen."

Spencer took a deep breath. It was a long time ago, and she's fine now, he thought, her life is a daily victory. And I'll savor every memory while I have to listen to him. "I'll be fine."

"Good." Rossi turned to the rest of them. "So, anyone else looking forward to tonight?"

With the exception of Spencer and Morgan the rest of the team made groaning noises.

"What?" Spencer asked

**Harry's Hideaway**

**Wide spot on the road**

**Outside Atkins AR**

By the time they went to get showers and a few hours sleep it was very late. The only place to stay was the local no-tell motel. They ended up doubling up on rooms as there were only three available. It was highly suggested that Prentiss and Seaver not share a room, given the nature of what usually went on in the motel, so Prentiss was in with Rossi and Seaver with Hotch. That left Morgan and Spencer to share, which clearly pleased Morgan. And Spencer had no reason to complain.

Well, one reason. "Are you going to be taking a shower anytime soon?" He asked Morgan.

"I was thinking about it, why?" Morgan asked. In reply Spencer held up his phone. "All right, I'll take my time. If there's no hot water left do not blame me."

As soon as the door closed behind Morgan Spencer hit the speed dial button. "Hello." He said as the phone was answered. "Please tell me I didn't wake you."

"Hello yourself," Elizabeth said. "No, I was waiting for you to call."

He could hear her putting a book down and finding another one in the background, and smiled. "You sound prepared." He said.

"Rabbi Shulman called me." She replied. "Let me guess, you're staying at that horrid motel out by the highway."

"How did you know?"

"It's the only motel in town.

_SEND me some tokens, that my hope may live_  
_Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest ;_  
_Send me some honey, to make sweet my hive,_  
_That in my passions I may hope the best._  
_I beg nor ribbon wrought with thine own hands,_  
_To knit our loves in the fantastic strain_  
_Of new-touch'd youth ; nor ring to show the stands_  
_Of our affection, that, as that's round and plain,_  
_So should our loves meet in simplicity ;_  
_No, nor the corals, which thy wrist enfold,_  
_Laced up together in congruity,_  
_To show our thoughts should rest in the same hold ;_  
_No, nor thy picture, though most gracious,_  
_And most desired, 'cause 'tis like the best_  
_Nor witty lines, which are most copious,_  
_Within the writings which thou hast address'd._  
_Send me nor this nor that, to increase my score,_  
_But swear thou think'st I love thee, and no more."_

Spencer settled back against the headboard, closed his eyes as he listened and sighed. "Thank you. This whole case is unnerving me."

"Why?"

Because odds were the victims were a lot like you, he thought, and eventually we will find them; and I will see you there and it will haunt my nightmares. "I'll tell you when I get home."

"All right, I'll keep the poetry books handy, odds are you're going to need that sort of thing kind of a lot over the next few days."

"Thank you." Wait a minute, "Books?"

"Are you alone?" She asked

Spencer blinked. She'd never asked that before. "For the moment, I'm bunking in with Morgan. Why?"

"You left one of your books behind.

_I stood in the doorway_

_for the longest time_

_after you left_

_looking at the night_

_listening to the night_

_feeling the cold_

_against the warmth of my body_

_feeling your touch_

_ripening on my body_

_It would have been too easy_

_to welcome you inside me_

_succumb to the rhythm_

_of waves washing over me_

_As much as that would be_

_it wouldn't be enough_

_I would never know_

_who_

_was on the other side_

_of your skin_

Spencer realized he'd forgotten to breathe in there somewhere, and he was quite sure his heart had stopped around the eighth line. All he could do for the longest moment was sit there and feel gravity double and double again. Erotic, he thought, this is what that word means? Has she really wanted me for that long?

"Spencer?" Elizabeth asked. "Was that too much?"

"What? No, no, you can read to me from those anytime you like. You have a gift for reading poetry."

"Thank you." He swore he could hear her blush over the phone. "We'll see, I just might,"

Spencer heard the shower shut off. "I have to go. I love you, you know. I don't remember ever saying it before."

"Yeah, well, I love you too." She sighed. "Please be careful. Don't let Bobby Joe steal your soul."

"I thought you were keeping that safe for me." He teased, gently.

"Just for that I'll be praying until you get home." She replied. "Good night, love."

"Good night." Spencer hung up the phone and just sat there, letting the words slip through his mind. _It would have been too easy/to welcome you inside me/succumb to the rhythm_ … He could at least intellectually picture that, but the emotions that clung to the phrases were new and…

Morgan came out in sweats and an FBI t-shirt. "Do I need to go back in there?" He asked.

Just as Spencer managed to look in his direction Morgan's phone rang. Morgan answered it. "Hey Hotch." Then there were a lot of all rights and yeas and okays. Eventually they hung up.

"What is it?' Spencer asked.

"The locals picked up someone they think might be our guy." Morgan told him.

"Who?"

"Joshua Thorne."

* * *

Poem #1 is _The Token_ by John Donne. Written prior to 1635 and no longer under copyright

Poem #2 is "Spring Storm" by Johanna Rayl. Published in _Passionate Hearts_, Wendy Maltz ed. Published by New World Library in 1996. No copyright infringement intended.


	48. Chapter 48

**Sheriff's substation**

**Outside Atkins, AR**

"I know why I'm here." Joshua Thorne said to Rossi.

Rossi looked the suspect over carefully. He was a tall man, and slender, but with some muscle. Not exactly the brightest bulb in the bunch, but polite and soft spoken nonetheless. If asked to describe him the one word Rossi would use would be gentle. "Why are you here?"

"Because Elaine is petitioning the church for an annulment."

"Your wife is leaving you? And you think that's why you've been brought in for questioning?"

Joshua looked past Rossi at the mirror, which meant that in a way, he looked right at Spencer. "Look, you all are from the city. You have to understand how it is around here."

"Explain it to me." Rossi said.

Joshua took a deep breath, "Elaine was not my first, all right. And the girl I was with before…she taught me that a woman has rights too. She has a right to…to enjoy herself same as a man does. Only that's not what the church teaches, it teaches that it's not about…well, it's about making babies, arrows for the Lord and that's all. Well, I don't think the church is right in that. I disagree with my daddy on that point and I told Elaine so. I was going to show her but…well, she said I was a pervert and she didn't want to have anything to do with that. And I wasn't gonna just have my way with her, and so I didn't."

"How long have you two been married?"

"Eight years. Every year we tried on our anniversary and every year she refused to even try to…well, this year we got into a fight about it and she must have gone back to her daddy and told him and now we're getting it annulled. Their dragging me into this is her way of making sure everyone knows it's all my fault."

"And none of this is?" Rossi fanned the crime scene photos out in front of him.

Joshua turned away in horror. "No! I don't see how any decent man could do that to a woman. Not ever!"

"Where were you on the night of the 22nd?" Rossi asked him.

"Home, in my bed, alone," Joshua replied.

Rossi asked again for the next victim, and the next, until for the fifth Joshua shook his head. "I was in Decatur, at a home school convention, selling books for my father. I can give you a list of the people who were there with me."

Rossi nodded. "I'd like that, thank you." He didn't fit the profile they were building, and he had an alibi. Joshua Thorne was not their man.

But as he stood to leave he stopped. "You know, no decent man would do that to a woman, but I can understand why he beat the boys."

"Oh?" Rossi asked.

"They should have defended their sisters. I should have…well, I should have once, and I didn't. Maybe somebody ought to beat me too." He shook his head. "I'll tell you, I wish I could leave this place. Go to the city, maybe, get a job, and find a woman not too broken to love. But after what I did I don't know that I deserve it."

"What did you do?" Rossi asked. But Joshua just shook his head and sighed as he walked out.

Rossi followed him out of the interrogation room. After a moment Spencer stepped out of the booth and joined him. "What do you think?" The older agent asked.

"I think he's right, the Unsub is beating the boys because they didn't protect their sisters, maybe like he didn't protect a sister or a mother or someone else he loved. He's giving them the punishment he feels like he deserves."

"All right, so why is he raping the girls?"

"I wonder if he's really intending to rape." Spencer considered out loud. "Maybe he's intending for it to be intercourse but between their lack of consent and his lack of knowledge it's becoming a violent act."

"What are you saying?" Rossi asked.

"Well we theorized that the Unsub was posing as a conductor, intending to free the victims from the cult. What if that's exactly what he's doing, only his definition of 'freedom' includes sexual initiation for the women, punishment for the men for…crimes against chivalry, and then in the end literal freedom in heaven. "

"Punishing the men out of guilt at his own crime." Rossi nodded. "He didn't protect someone, and now they aren't protecting someone so he's giving them the treatment he feels he deserves."

"And if the crime was against chivalry then it would probably be that someone he loved was forced to marry another, and probably died soon after; a girlfriend, not a sister or a mother or daughter. Someone he wanted to initiate but didn't fight for, and then had to deal with them being raped and then dying before he could do anything about it."

"And her death would be the stressor. Now he's setting young women free from that same situation before they can be raped by their husbands. And if a man is close enough for her to take with her in her escape, he was close enough to have stopped the situation before it got that far, and so deserves to be punished." Rossi nodded. "We can give them the profile."

"They're not going to like it." Spencer pointed out. "Their own beliefs have caused this to happen. They'll probably deny it."

"They don't have to like it or use it." Rossi said. "We just have to give it to them. Then we've done out part."

* * *

They stood before the small department and gave their profile; male, of course, late teens or early twenties and a member of the same church as the victims. Had a girl he cared about marry on him, probably to someone older, probably died not long after.

"Well the girl is easy." The sheriff told them, "Patricia Foster. She died the week before it all started. Died a couple of days after her wedding, the coroner said it was some kind of aneurysm. She just keeled over in bed."

More like after being raped by her husband, Spencer thought, which would have been enough to make a weakened vein go. "So which boys were close to her before she married?"

"None," came a booming voice from the back of the room. "Patricia was a good woman. She didn't have a harlot's ways. She kept under her father's umbrella of protection until he gave her to her husband." The local officers respectfully parted for the speaker. He was tall and broad, with white hair and a neatly trimmed white beard, imposing in his bearing, taking up much of the psychological space in the room. As he grew closer Spencer realized he was the only man here who would not have to literally look up to look this man in the eye, even Morgan was just a bit shorter. "She would not have enticed any of our young men to sin."

"Pastor Robert Thorne." Rossi said. "I'm SSA Dave Rossi. I believe we've met before."

"Yes. I believe we have." Thorne replied. "And these gentlemen are?"

Rossi made the proper introductions, using the correct titles for everyone. Thorne politely shook hands with Hotch, more reluctantly with Morgan, and utterly dismissed Prentiss and Seaver. He managed a smile when Rossi introduced Dr. Reid. "Ah, a medical doctor, I'm sure your advice must be quite valuable."

"Academic doctor," Spencer stood there and maintained eye contact. Thorne's eyes were completely cold, almost mechanical. No, they were worse. They were cold, utterly cold. Spencer could have sworn he was standing in a shadow. Don't blink, he thought, don't blink.

"A PhD? Ah, fascinating. And what is your area of study?"

"Mathematics, engineering and chemistry."

"Three?' He was clearly taken aback. "Remarkable. Well, I can see why they hired you."

Clearly Thorne was used to being the most educated man in the room, as well as literally looking down on others and intimidating all he came into contact with. None of that was working with Spencer. It wasn't just education or height or knowing that not blinking would intimidate, it was that he could feel the memory of Elizabeth's scarred back under his palms. He knew that Thorne was so insecure that he had to beat a fourteen year old girl bloody to prove his mastery over her, his self-awareness was so fragile that it could not survive even that small a loss. I am not afraid of you, Spencer thought, how could anyone be intimidated by a man so small. Elizabeth calling him Bobby Joe might have been what set him off in the end.

"Well, I will let you all get back to work. I'm sure the Sheriff will put your profile to good use. Thank you for your help." Thorne turned and began heading toward the door, stopping to speak to this man or that on his way.

The team turned in on itself, all except Spencer who kept watching Thorne. I'm missing something, he thought, I have just seen the enemy and now I'm missing something.

"Get the feeling we've just been dismissed?" Prentiss asked, rhetorically.

"Excuse me, Pastor Thorne?" Spencer called as he went after him.

"So what do we do now?" Seaver asked, legitimately.

"Yes?" Thorne turned back toward Spencer.

"We offer them the rest of the profile." Rossi said, pitching his voice so any officers near could overhear. "We tell them to look for friends of her brothers or sons of families her family liked to socialize with. We tell them to look for young men who have changed their behavior lately, who are spending more time alone, who have been losing their temper, and who may have lost their job or given up volunteer projects. We tell them to look for someone who has access to land with caves or hunting cabins, somewhere isolated where he can keep his victims for a length of time. And then," Rossi dropped his voice again, "If they don't want our help we go home."

"I couldn't help but wonder if you were the Pastor Thorne who's been…blessed," the word all but stuck in Spencer's throat. "with so many children."

"What?" Morgan asked. "We leave with an Unsub still out there?"

"The Lord has placed fifteen souls in my quiver so far." Thorne answered him with a satisfied smile. "I have been truly blessed."

"Remember, we're here to advise," Hotch told them, "Not to take over for local law enforcement. What they do with the tool we give them is up to them."

"And how man grandchildren?" Spencer asked Thorne.

"But there are three missing kids out there who could die." Morgan protested.

Thorne's face darkened as the men around him and Spencer all of a sudden pretended not to be paying attention. "The Lord has not yet blessed me with the next generation. But I maintain my faith that all things will come in His time."

"I know." Hotch replied. "It's not up to us."

"I'm sorry." Spencer said, without a drop of sincerity.

Thorne turned away and Spencer headed back to the team. On his way he passed Joshua Thorne who was doing the last of the paperwork. Spencer considered him a moment. He was not, after all, a Trent or a Tobias. He was just a confused kid grown into a confused man. "Hey," he said softly. When Joshua looked up Spencer smiled at him. "Everyone deserves it you know. If you need help getting out call me. I know some people who can help."

Joshua frowned. "I don't have…"

Spencer interrupted him. "Left pocket of your coat," he said quietly. With that he turned and walked back to the team, knowing that Joshua would find his business card eventually.

"What was that all about?" Rossi asked.

Spencer smiled, "Justice."


	49. Chapter 49

**Chapter 49**

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

"In the end he was just a decent guy." Spencer leaned a hip up against Elizabeth's counter and sipped at his soda. The simple act of coming home after a case, of stripping off work clothes and the SSA title and being able to hang around in an old, soft shirt and his most threadbare cords and no tie, to talk to someone about what he really thought and how he really felt in a place so calm and so quiet had made dealing with work and Unsubs, and just life in general so much easier to bear. "Yeah, he'd made some mistakes, but he clearly regretted them."

"I always thought Joshua had a decent heart, or else I never would have…" Elizabeth frowned down at the pan she was stirring. She'd changed out of her work clothes as well, into a long soft skirt and a tank top, the better for dancing or cuddling later. "What did he have to regret?"

"Not defending you in front of his father."

"He couldn't have. I knew that." She sighed. "Well, I hope it all works out for him."

"I gave him my card. If he needs help I can try to connect him with Sam and Danny."

She turned and gave him a soft, grateful smile. "You're a good man Spencer Reid. Thank you." She stirred the sauce a bit longer. "Think they will actually catch the bad guy?"

"I hope so. I hope some of the deputies actually listened and go investigate rather than just support Thorne. But there's just not that much else we can do." He looked down and gently swirled his glass to make the ice clink, "Except for one thing, maybe."

"Oh, what's that?"

"I don't know, maybe a little justice in the world. Did you know that Thorne doesn't have any grandchildren?"

She turned to stare at him. "No, I didn't. On the one hand that's justice right there, given what happened. But I feel bad for his children, not having babies in that society makes you a pariah."

Spencer swirled his glass again. "Have you ever considered it?"

"Considered what?" She asked, turning back to the pan.

"Children."

"Of course I have; eventually, someday, when I marry the right guy." Elizabeth looked at him over her shoulder again. "I thought you weren't considering it, you were afraid of passing down your Momma's genes."

"I did some further research." Spencer kept his focus on the dark brown liquid, the better than revealing how terrified he was that she might say no. "Did you know that the SFU group found that variations in four sets of genes are related to both autism and schizophrenia? People normally have two copies of each gene, but in autistics some genome locations have only single copies and in schizophrenics extra copies are present at the same locations."

Elizabeth considered this a moment. "Sounds like you can only be one or the other. Have you ever had yourself tested?"

"Not genetically. It's still experimental, of course, but the research is sound." He took a deep breath. "I contacted the research group today, and offered to submit a sample. "

She was quiet a long moment. "What are you going to do if it comes back positive for Schizophrenia?"

He chuckled a bit without humor. "Enjoy what I can as long as I can."

She nodded. "And if it comes back the other way? Odds are you'd be passing down autism, and there's not any way of telling how it would develop."

For a moment Spencer considered Sammy once again. He could hear the music; feel the keys under his fingers. "I would be willing to take that risk."

She turned and smiled over her shoulder again. "So would I."

He smiled down at his soda, took a big breath, and tried to be bold. "I think I should, um, spend more time working with Dr. Messer before I, um, take any major steps but, um…"

"I'll wait." She said, very quietly.

That was exactly what he had been hoping she would say. He felt himself start falling, a very long way down. He stepped up behind her, and placed a small, square box on the counter. "You know, with my knee I can't…"

She turned and gently touched his cheek and kissed him to stop him talking, a kiss that was long and slow and had their tongues twining for what seemed like forever. It was a kiss that did nothing to stop his fall. "Yes." She whispered against his lips.

"You're not even going to look?"

She flipped open the box and looked over the small diamond and garnet ring, "Still yes."

Well, all right then, he thought. Then he gently cradled her face and went back to kissing her.

**National Cathedral**

**Washington DC**

"Bess? Bess!"

Spencer and Elizabeth turned toward the booming voice. It was Wednesday; there was nothing at any of the museums they hadn't seen, so Spencer finally took her up on that cook's tour of the glorious cathedral on the hill. They were just on their way into one of the chapels when that voice stopped them. Spencer turned to see an imposing man in priest's garb, easily as large as Thorne, striding across the nave toward them. But unlike Thorne this man's face was full of wit and intelligence and happy good humor.

He stopped in front of Elizabeth, who on her day off was once again wearing jeans, her usual saddle shoes, and one of her work shirts without the tab in her collar. "How dare you bring your young fellow all the way down here and not introduce me. Fix your collar." Then he turned to Spencer and offered his hand. "Rev. Harry Wickham, you must be Dr. Reid."

Oh crap, Spencer thought as she shook hands, his practically disappearing into the larger man's grip. This is like meeting her Dad and he holds a Lambeth Degree and he got his degrees from Oxford and I have never been this intimidated In My Life. "Uh. Uh, pleasure to meet you Sir."

"I thought you were out of town." Elizabeth muttered as she fastened up her collar and put the tab in.

Rev. Wickham clearly ignored her. "Come down to my office, I just put the kettle on." He said, drawing Spencer after him. "I've been meaning to have you over for quite some time."

This might be the biggest academic showdown of my life, Spencer thought. Thankfully he managed to keep his whimpers to himself.

* * *

"Not only did he make a second pot of tea but he invited you over for tamales on Sunday." Elizabeth pointed out as they walked out of the Cathedral three hours later. "That's kind of impressive you know"

Spencer was still a little in shock. He'd managed to hold his own through the discussion, which had ranged from psychology to philosophy to theology to history; taking in literature along the way, but it hadn't been at all easy. At times he barely felt like he was treading water with the depth and breadth of the ideas and questions that had been bandied about. And yet he'd truly enjoyed the discussion, and dearly wanted to go back for more, he hadn't been that challenged since Gideon... "Do you think that means he likes me?"

Elizabeth tucked her arm under his. "Honey, when he invites you over to eat Tómas' cooking, you're family."

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

After a take-out dinner they retreated to the library for tea and cake and Star Trek and what turned out to be some fairly intense necking on the so-called naughty couch. She's not going anywhere, Spencer thought, she's agreed to stay, she's promised to never leave, even if I screw this up somehow she'll stay and let me try again. "Teach me something." He murmured into the hollow space below her ear.

"About you or about me?" She asked as she tipped her head to give him access and murmured with pleasure.

"Either." He said. Then he paused for a moment. "What is a hickey?"

A moment later he groaned as a soft pain and an arrow bolt of pleasure shot through him when she showed him.

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

Morgan stopped on his way to sit down at the conference table. He reached over, peeled down the collar of Spencer's shirt, smiled at the small, oval bruise there, and continued on to his seat. Spencer didn't say anything; he just sat there with his ears burning. As good as last night had been he had to ask Elizabeth to aim lower next time.

"Okay folks, I would say feast your eyes on the creepiest case yet, but it's really not something you want to consider festive." Garcia said as she sat at the conference table. She clicked her wand and images began appearing on the screen behind her. "Last night 911 out in Grants Pass Oregon got a call from the owner of the Tru Value Hardware store in Cave Junction, they found two bodies in a parking lot. They've been identified as Sheila and Jeff Greige, a couple who disappeared from the Holiday Motel a month ago."

"He spends time with them." Rossi pointed out right off. "That means an older man with space and independent income."

Morgan looked down at the images on his tablet. "Oh my God, they were tortured to death."

"Yeah, not quite," Garcia said, as she clearly refused to look at the bodies. "They had their eyeballs punctured, their eardrums and middle ears destroyed, their tongues cut out, they were burned with what they believe to be lye in various places on their bodies including their necks, arms, legs and genitals, the insides of their noses were burned with some kind of caustic solutions, they had their hands cut off and Jeff Greige received what I believe is called a double orchidectomy."

"A what?" Seaver asked.

"The Unsub removed his testicles." Hotch told her, as he read ahead.

"And that's not torture?" Morgan asked her.

"No, that's not dead. Sheila and Jeff Greige are still alive."


	50. Chapter 50

**Chapter 50**

**St. Martin's Episcopal Church**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Elizabeth**

Five days a week she got up in the morning, had her shower, juice and eggs and headed across the street. There she opened the church first, spent a few moments on her knees, and then went to the sacristy to dress for Matins.

Before the altar she led the small gathering in the General Confession, the opening Versical, the Antiphon, the Cantical, the various readings, The Apostles' Creed and Lord's Prayer. She never had many people there, Thelma always, her Deacon Mr. Johnson more often than not, and usually a scattering of elderly folk from the neighborhood who had been coming here since they were children and who came now for the fellowship more than anything.

After Matins she would lay aside her vestments for a time and go into the office. There she helped people untangle their problems. In Matthew 24:34-40 Christ Himself said:

_Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me. Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee? And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me._

And that was what she tried her living best to do every single day, in addition to helping people untangle the knots that came from living in the modern world. So on any given morning she could be found helping a single parent, out of work for far too long, apply for food stamps. Or she would help a young family facing foreclosure find someone who could help them sort the legal nightmare and help them stay in their home. Or perhaps she would help them get into a shelter, or from a shelter into low-cost housing. Sometimes she would arrange for respite care for a daughter home with a parent with Alzheimer's, or a mother home with a severely disabled child. Sometimes it was a simple as calling the phone tree and organizing a casserole brigade for a new mother or a mourning spouse.

Then, at noon she would go back to the sacristy, put on her vestments, and say Mass. For the middle of the workday she usually had a remarkably large crowd, usually people from the nearby university offices on their lunch break, or the people from around the neighborhood, or sometimes the homeless who lived in the park like area across the street that was technically part of the zoo. But all were equal before God, and so she treated them all just the same.

After that she managed lunch.

Every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon she met with the people at the Second Harvest food bank where she helped organize volunteers and drum up donations. Every Monday she met with the principal from the nearest elementary school and brought over donations of clothing for students who literally had nothing to wear to school. Or they would donate supplies provided by the academics in her congregations; paper, pencils and whatever else might be needed. She would go visit her parishioners in the hospital if needed, and every Friday she would visit the nursing homes and bring Communion. And then Friday nights she did her turn in the ER, counseling rape victims and wondering why she was so blessed. In between it all there were funerals, and holidays, and now that they were getting into Spring three or four weddings every Saturday, along with having to write a sermon every week, keep up the business end of the church, oversee the books and hunt for donations, and occasionally cover one of Harry's seminars at Georgetown. And a few times a year there was the trek down to the safe house and another girl or two to welcome to her new freedom.

She touched lives. And she was quite proud of the work she had done, and would continue to do until she could do it no longer.

But she turned out to be shy when it came to her own life, when after Matins that morning Thelma stopped and touched her. "What's this?" She asked, taking Elizabeth's hand and having a look at the ring.

"Spencer…" She said, and then stopped, feeling her cheeks burning. "It's not what you're thinking, he needs time and there are a few things, but…"

Thelma looked at her, her eyes going moist. "But you deserve someone too." She said, and pulled Elizabeth into her arms for a hug.

**Gulfstream 5000**

**North Central US airspace**

**Spencer**

Eventually they had studied as much of the case as they could before getting there. And so they settled into discussing other matters. Emily came and sat next to Morgan, across from Spencer and Seaver. "So how was your day off?" She asked Spencer.

"It was actually remarkable. Elizabeth tried to take me on a tour of the National Cathedral, and we ended up having tea with the Dean of Worship there." Not that he felt like bragging or anything. "He was her theses advisor in college and has been her mentor ever since."

Emily and Morgan looked at each other. "Ohhhh," Emily said. "So you had tea with her _father_, I get it. So, how was it?"

"I survived." Okay yes, he was bragging.

"That bad?"

"That good. He has Doctorates in Theology and Philosophy from Oxford and holds an honorary Lambeth degree in Divinity."

"What's a Lambeth Degree?" Seaver asked.

"A Lambeth degree is an academic degree conferred by the Archbishop of Canterbury under the authority of the Ecclesiastical Licenses Act of 1533 as successor of the papal legate in England. In his case it was for his writings on theodicy." At her blank look Spencer kept going. "Theodicy is the study of how to reconcile the nature of God with the idea of evil."

"Which is not what's important here," Morgan pointed out. When they turned to look at him he continued. "What important here is what usually comes after you meet the girl's parents." He looked at Spencer expectantly, and when the silence stretched he finally had to ask. "You thinking about popping the question?"

Spencer had thought of another question about the case in the back of his mind, and picked up the file to check on a point, or so he told himself. "We've, um, already started discussing it."

Emily and Morgan looked at each other again, this time in surprise. "Wait, seriously?" Morgan asked. When Spencer looked over the edge of the file and nodded, he leaned in and focused. "Have you started looking at rings? 'Cause that's when a girl starts taking you seriously."

"How do you know?" Emily ask

"Trust me." Morgan replied.

"Actually I already bought her one." Spencer told them.

"Let's see it." Emily said.

"I can't. She's wearing it."

This time when Morgan and Emily looked at each other it was with shock. "Reid," Emily said, very patiently, "When a guy starts talking marriage with a girl and he gives her a ring and she starts wearing it, that's called being engaged."

"Really?' Spencer asked the file, very calmly. "Are you sure? I mean It's not like we're getting married tomorrow."

"Yeah, really," Emily's voice and eyes full of concern, which was why Spencer couldn't keep up the absent minded professor pose any longer. He finally allowed the smile to reach his face and grow there as he met Emily's eyes.

"Oh, you…" Emily smacked him over the head with her file as she, Morgan and even Seaver started laughing.

* * *

Eventually both Emily and Seaver moved to other locations to talk to Hotch and Rossi. Spencer looked up to find Morgan looking at him. "What?"

"Are you sure you're ready for the whole marriage thing?"

"Are you asking if I'm sure I have the right person or if I'm sure of the right timing?"

"Both."

Spencer considered it a moment. "I am sure of the right person. I can't tell you how I know but I know. I just want to keep going home to her." Nothing else could make his life right anymore, he realized again, nothing. "As for the timing, like I said, we're planning a long engagement. At this point it's more of a goal to work toward than anything."

Morgan nodded, slow and thoughtful. "All right, I can see that. Have you told anyone else yet?"

"No why?"

Morgan grinned evilly, pulled out his phone and hit seven on the speed dial, "Hey, dollface. Guess what."

**Sheriff's station**

**Grant's Pass**

**Josephine County, OR**

"Nice to meet you all," the sheriff said when they walked in and Hotch made the introductions. "The bodies were found out in Cave Junction, that's about an hour west of here."

"We already drove an hour from the airport." Seaver pointed out, as if it was the Sheriff's fault.

He just nodded. "Welcome to Oregon."

Hotch ignored her. "I assume you have a substation that far out. Have you informed your men that we're coming?"

"My men?" The Sheriff chuckled without humor and jerked a thumb at the two deputies sitting behind him. "These are my men."

"What about the rest of the force?" Morgan asked.

"There is no rest of the force." The Sheriff shook his head. "We used to fund this department off timber money from the Federal Government. The Feds paid the county to not sell the rights to harvest the timberlands. Then a few years back someone figured out that they had two wars to pay for and cut us off. That was right about when the housing market collapsed, so no one wanted to buy the lumber. All we could afford was me, two deputies, six guards at the jail and three vehicles between us all. Hell, I don't even bother to arrest people any more for anything less than Murder one." He shook his head again, clearly disgusted, "Or maybe for this."

"Um, Josephine County covers an area of 1,640 square miles." Spencer pointed out. "Assuming one of those vehicles is assigned to the jail, and you cover that area with only two cars that means at any given time you only have one car on shift."

"Yeah," the Sheriff said, "What's your point?"

"Assuming you drive the limit of 60 miles an hour and a completely flat surface even if you parked in the center of the county you would have a minimum of a 40 minute response time to any calls."

"Which doesn't take into account the lack of roads or the rough terrain out there," the Sheriff nodded. "It's more like two hours most of the time."

"How the hell do you police this place?" Morgan asked

"Before they cut off our funds we issued as many concealed carry permits as we could. We armed everybody." He went over to a board and brought back what had to be the keys to the substation. "Welcome to the Wild West. Good luck."


	51. Chapter 51

**Chapter 51**

**Three Rivers Hospital**

**Grants Pass, OR**

**Spencer**

While the others went on ahead to open the substation and see what they could do about getting started Spencer and Morgan stopped at the hospital to have a look at the victims. It was a new hospital, built right before the economic collapse, and so the contrast between the clean symmetry of the surroundings and the horrific conditions of the victims was all the more shocking. They couldn't even cover them with sheets, Spencer realized, there's too much damage. They've even been denied that much dignity.

Spencer looked down at the picture in the file. Sheila Greige, age 32, married, no children, an assistant bank manager from Portland on vacation. Her pictured showed an attractive woman, healthy, happy, with light brown hair and light eyes and the almost tan that comes from lots of time perusing an outdoor lifestyle.

Well, all that was gone now.

Spencer started making a complete inventory of her injuries, all the why asking himself one question, why? Why did the Unsub do this? What need did this action meet?

That lovely light brown hair was gone. Not a clue how it went, but all that was left was a bit of stubble. It was quite possible it had been burned off when he applied a caustic solution to her scalp which would leave her nothing but scar tissue on her head for the rest of her days. It might even make a wig impossible, Spencer wasn't sure. He had punctured both her eyeballs, mangled them to insure blindness, the level of healing indicated that they had been done at least a week apart. Something similar had been done to her ears, the eardrums punctured and a caustic solution ran in there to eat away at the fine bones and other tissues. Her lips had been burned over lightly, rendering them still usable but they would be covered with scars. The same with the inside of her nose. And her tongue had been removed, apparently recently. But why?

He had applied more caustic solution to her body, her neck, the insides of her forearms, her breasts and lower abdomen, her inner thighs, her buttocks, the soles of her feet. The damage to her genitals was extensive, not only were all of the external structures literally burned away in multiple treatments but there was some question as to whether or not she would be continent. And at some point in the process the Unsub had removed her hands.

But why? Why?

He left her room and went next door to her husbands room. Jeff Greige, 34, computer security expert. For the most part their injuries were the same. He still had the hair on his head, but his testicles had been cut away rather than burned. And unfortunately for him as of this morning his penis had been removed as well. It had been burned so badly that the tissue could not be saved. The Unsub had burned the skin behind his scrotum as well.

But why?

Spencer stood between the two doors. There was something. There was a pattern here. He knew it. He could feel it.

Morgan wandered over from speaking with the doctor. "You got something genius?"

"Maybe." It was right there. He could taste it.

Morgan watched him as he looked from patient to patient. "You know, next time make sure that girl of yours aims lower, you bruise too easy."

You could almost hear the click. Spencer turned to Morgan, his eyes wide with horror. "That's it!"

"What's it?"

"Erogenous zones. He's taking control of their ability to feel pleasure. He's the last thing they will ever experience, the last touch, the last sight, the last voice they hear." Spencer felt his stomach starting to churn on him again.

Morgan looked at the patients again, and nodded. "You're right. But why not kill them?"

"Because he would lose control if they died. The way it stands now with good medical care they could live for years, decades, trapped inside their own bodies with him as the last memory they have."

"Damm." Morgan shook his head. "Who would want to do that?"

"Well, we know he has to keep them a while, or at least he kept these two a while, so he has isolated space and enough money so that he doesn't need to work. He must have some kind of medical experience to keep them alive through it all. And I'm thinking he might have recently gone through a very bitter break-up or divorce."

Morgan nodded. "And his ex rubbed it in about how good she had it with the new guy. Now he's taking it out on other couples. But why this couple?"

"These couples." Said a voice behind them. They turned and watched as the medical team wheeled another victim in.

**Holiday Motel**

**Cave Junction, OR**

"Well the dump site didn't tell us much." Rossi said as he and Seaver got out of the car and joined Hotch and Prentiss. "It's the parking lot of the strip mall up the street. If anything he chose it because there's a fairly busy bar in that mall, someone would have found them and quickly."

"So he wants them to survive." Hotch nodded. He was standing by two cars parked closely together, a late-model Subaru Outback and a battered, older, Honda. "This one belongs to the victims. It's been here ever since, the owners called the country to have it towed but with their budget no one has gotten around to it. The other car has been here the entire time as well. We were just about to go through it."

"Anything left in the motel room?" Rossi asked. He looked over at Seaver, who was clearly not paying attention. He was going to have to speak to her again, he could tell.

"No. The owner said they had checked out. From here you can drive to the coast, they were going to head north back to Portland."

Emily had been looking over the cars as the two men spoke. "Look at the way these are parked. You can't open the driver's side door with this other car so close."

"No, you can't." Rossi agreed. "What are you thinking?"

Emily walked around to the other side and popped open the door. "It's unlocked." A disgusting cloud of rotted food and chemicals came rolling out. Forcing them all back. After a moment the car had aired enough that she could stick her head in. "It looks like they had settled in for a road trip all right. They had coffee, snacks up front, a cooler back there that I am not going to open. If you can't get in on the driver's side and you want to go what do you do?"

"Climb in from the passenger's side and slide over." Rossi nodded. "Yeah, that would work."

"When you go on a trip like this once you're in the car you settle, put your coffee away, find your book, cue up the music." Emily said, thinking out loud. "If he pulls up the first car while you're in the room or checking out, then all he has to do is wait until you're distracted and pull up next to you. Boom, you're trapped."

Just then the Sheriff drove up and stuck his head out the window. "Don't know if you heard, they found two more victims this morning. Already took the survivor to the hospital."

"Why didn't you call us?" Hotch asked.

"I tried. We don't get much in the way of cell service out here. Come on, I'll show you where it happened,"

**Sheriff's substation**

**Cave Junction, OR**

"Matt and Laney Meuel. They only went missing a week ago." Hotch looked over the information from the latest couple found. "They went missing from the other hotel in town, it looks like the same setup. Why didn't he keep them?"

Spencer had been looking over the medical reports. "From the way the victims are healing it looks like he primarily works on the female of the couple first, maybe to play up the idea that the male can't protect the female. But Laney was Diabetic, she couldn't handle the shock of the torture and being off her meds."

"So she died before he could finish." Rossi nodded. "Which was why he did such a hurried job on Matt Meuel."

"That also means he's looking for another couple right now." Hotch pointed out. "He's nowhere near done."

The Sheriff came in followed by a deputy and another man. "Well, I called up our Search and Rescue units and have them sitting in every motel parking lot between the Grants Pass city limits and the ocean. That bastard tries that trick again and we'll spot him at least. I also contacted the sheriffs in the neighboring counties, and asked them to put their units on alert. That can give you a couple of hundred men, although they have limited arresting powers. Still, it's what I can do."

"Thank you, Sheriff." Hotch said.

" I had an idea, thought it might be of use to you people. This here is Mark Townsend, he's the mayor here."

Introductions were made, then Hotch asked. "How do you think you can help us?"

The Mayor was a smaller man, just passed middle age, with a bookish air to go with his wire-rimmed glasses. "Well, I'm also the local realtor. The only local realtor. The sheriff said you're looking for someone with money and land, someone probably retired who can spend a lot of time on their own. I have files of everyone I've sold property to for the last thirty years, what they do or did for a living, how big their property is, how much credit they can handle, that sort of thing. And I'm not bound by confidentiality laws, you're more than welcome to go through them."

Finally, a break. "Thank you, that's very helpful. If you can give our technical analyst back in Quantico the address of your server she can go through your files and find what we need."

"Oh, it's not on a computer." The Mayor said. "I've got twelve boxes of files out in my vehicle. Can some of you help bring them in?"

* * *

"Could you at least pretend to be grumpy?" Morgan asked Spencer.

"Hm?" Spencer flipped rapidly through a file, absorbing and processing the information as quickly as his finger could move across the page. "Sorry, I really do find this meditative."

"Yeah, well, you're the only one who hasn't had a break today. Which means you're the one who has to go get dinner with Seaver."

"Can't we order in?"

"Not in this one-horse town. And I mean that, we saw a horse and wagon parked in front of the tavern earlier. Now take a break and go call your girl. Hey Seaver." Morgan looked over his shoulder. "You get to go pick up dinner."

She walked over from the other table where she had been working with Rossi and Emily. "Is this some kind of rookie newbie thing?"

"Yes." Morgan told her to her face. "Dr. Reid is going to go with you to help you carry stuff back. Hey Sheriff, where's a good place to eat around here?"

"Taylor Sausage. Best barbrque beef sandwiches on the west coast. Other end of town on the north side of Main.

Spencer and Seaver went to leave but as soon as they opened the door they were hit with a blast of frozen air. The weather had changed and small bits of hail were falling. Spencer dug in his satchel and pulled out one of those rain jackets that fold up into its own small pocket, but Seaver just looked from him to the weather and back in the room, utterly lost.

Morgan sighed in frustration. "Take my jacket. And come prepared next time."

**Taylor Sausages**

**Cave Junction, OR**

Taylor Sausage turned out to be a butcher shop, deli and dairy as well as a small restaurant. They parked in the quiet lot out back. While Seaver went to the counter to order Spencer waited in the back corner by the cases of cheese and cured meat. "Hey. I'm glad you're still up." He said when Elizabeth answered the phone.

"It's only nine. It's not that late." He heard her shifting, setting aside one book for the other. "I am in bed though."

"I wish I was there."

"In bed with me?"

"I said wish." Spencer noticed that Seaver was watching and turned away for a bit of privacy. He might still be too scared to let anyone actually touch him, but he found himself rapidly warming to the idea as far as Elizabeth was concerned. "This case is a tough one. We're having to go through boxes of files manually."

"At least you're safe in the office."

"At least for tonight." Spencer leaned against the wall and sighed. He didn't want to think of the victims anymore, didn't want to picture what might be going through their minds. "Read me something?"

"Old or new?"

"Either." Did they even know they were in the hospital? Or were the rest of their lives going to be nothing but an unending series of tortures. "New, please." Read something wild to bring him back into his own body, if only for a moment or two.

He heard her purr slightly and her voice dropped and slowed even further

.

_Shaking out the clean sheets_

_that crisp lightly scented caress,_

_I make my bed ready for you._

_.  
_

_I wash my hair, trim_

_nails lest they scratch you –_

_unintentionally._

_.  
_

_A new paisley cloth on it,_

_I sit at the table_

_studying recipes_

_.  
_

_Each recipe is a dance_

_of seduction, beckoning._

_Soon the door will swing wide,_

_.  
_

_to where I wait in my body_

_crowned and glittering_

_for the feast to start._

_.  
_

Spencer let that sit there a long moment, let the music of the words, perfect and pure, sink and settle him. I want to go home, he thought. I love what I do and I want to catch this Unsub and make sure he can never hurt anyone again and then I want to go home. I never felt like this before. He looked over to where Seaver's order was coming up. "Thank you. You know I love you."

"I love you too. I'll read to you any time beloved, you don't need to thank me."

"Yes I do. Always." He looked over at Seaver again and sighed. "I have to go."

"All right. You come home safe to me."

"I will." He hung up and went to help carry boxes

* * *

"Dammit." Seaver said as they went back to the parking lot. Someone had parked too close on her side; she couldn't get in to drive. "What is it with people, an entire lot and they have to park right there."

"Well, get in over here." Spencer indicated the passenger side door. "It's not that big of a deal."

They put the food in the back, then Seaver got in and slid over to the driver's side, followed by Spencer. "Did you leave the door open?" he asked her as they settled drinks into cup holders.

"Yeah, I thought you were supposed to." She replied, "Makes it easier if you have to get back in in a hurry later, if you have to chase someone."

"Oh. I wouldn't know. I never chase anyone." He made a mental note to ask Morgan later. Just then a panel van pulled up next to them, blocking the passenger side doors as well. This does not feel right, he thought as something under the seat popped and started hissing.

"What is that?" Seaver asked as a gas began slowly filling the car."

The gas had a thick, sweet odor. "Chloroform." Spencer instinctively tried to get the window down but Seaver had yet to put the key in, and when he went to open the door the van was so close that he couldn't break the seal. "Shoot the glass!" He yelled at her as a man looked down at them from the window of the van and watched. "Shoot the glass!" He yelled as he frantically tried to draw his own gun and the world went dark around him.

* * *

.

* * *

Poem is "Little Acts of Love" by Marge Piercy Published in _Intimate Kisses_, Wendy Maltz ed. Published by New World Library in 2001. No copyright infringement intended.


	52. Chapter 52

**Chapter 52**

**Taylor Sausages**

**Cave Junction, OR**

**Morgan**

It was dinner. What the hell was taking them so long? No, better question, what did Seaver do this time?

When it seemed like it was taking forever for the two of them to get back Morgan tried calling Reid. When that didn't work he tried calling Seaver. When that didn't work he tried calling Garcia. "Hey, baby girl, work your magic on Reid's phone for me."

He heard the sound of keys behind her. "Um, it says he's in town with you. A few miles west, why, is something wrong?"

"I don't know. Let me call you back." Now he was concerned. He got into the other car, given the state of the rainstorm, and drove down to the other side of town to find this place.

As soon as he got into the parking lot he started feeling sick. Because there was a battered car parked way too close, and there were sandwiches going cold in the back seat and that was Reid's gun on the floor. And two cell phones in the passenger's seat.

Goddamn it.

Morgan got back in the car and floored it back to the station to break all hell loose on this mountain.

**Abandoned mine**

**Oregon**

**Spencer**

When Spencer came to he was lying on a cold, stone floor. It took him a long moment to remember what happened, where he might be, and why. Once he did he listened carefully before opening his eyes, but all he could hear was someone breathing slowly and evenly not too far away.

He opened his eyes to find himself sitting in a cell made out of a niche mined out of the side of the mine tunnel. Someone had put iron bars over the entrance, had cemented them in well. From the look of the work it was not recent, these cells were old. But the locks on the doors were shiny and new and the kind that would be a bitch to pick, even if he had the tools.

He got up slowly, waiting for his head to stabilize on his shoulders before moving to the front of the cell. The Unsub had strung clear Christmas lights along the ceiling, of all things, which gave the place a gentle, clear glow, more than enough light to see Seaver still out cold on the other cell floor. In the center, directly between the cells, was an old, sturdy chair made up with various restraints. That was disturbing.

Looking around his cell for assets he found a self-contained camping toilet, in full view of everything, of course, a stack of cases of bottled water, and a case of military Meals Ready to Eat. Not the best food by far but at least he would neither starve nor dehydrate. But that did explain why the Unsub waited so long to cut out their tongues, they would need them to eat this kind of food. His pockets had been emptied, his satchel left behind in the car more than likely. He rather regretted that, he'd kind of like to have his contacts out now. Or maybe he was just thinking about his eyes, how much he'd rather like to keep them, and preferably both.

Stop that, he told himself sternly. The team will find you. They will always find you. All you have to do is survive until they get here.

Yes, he thought, but how damaged will I be when they get here? According to the rates of healing what came first with Jeff Greige? The surface burns, of course, but where?

Stop it. Stop thinking about it.

For a moment Spencer paused. He wasn't a believer, but if there was something out there for a moment he gave thanks for his memory. Whatever was about to happen he could call up every moment of his time with Elizabeth, with his Mom, with the better parts of life and remember. No matter what, he had that. But if I regret anything in this moment, I regret not having more.

Then he set that aside and started a meticulous examination of the bars again.

Some unknown time later Spencer noticed Seaver slowly rousing in her cell. "Seaver," he hissed. "Seaver!" No luck yet. "Ashley! Ashley!" Finally she woke up and looked at her surroundings. "Ashely, stop!" He hissed again, hoping the sound wouldn't carry. "Calm down!"

"What?" She said, in a voice far too loud and high pitched for his liking. "Where are we? What's going on? Oh my God!"

"Ashley! Calm down!" He was still trying to keep his voice from carrying, but he had to break through her panic.

"Calm down? Calm down! We're in a cell and the Unsub is…"

"Cadet Seaver!" He snapped to interrupt her. "This is a direct order, all right! Chill out! The more time we have before he knows we're awake the better our chances." He went back to looking over the cell door.

"We have to get out of here!" She said, thankfully in a much quieter voice.

"I'm working on that. Do you have a hairpin?"

"What? No."

"A safety pin? Some jewelry? Anything?"

"No, I…I…no."

"Damn it." Nothing to use to pick the lock. "All right, look at me. Look at me. Come on." He waited until she locked eyes with him. "Jason Gideon always said the greatest weapon we have is a profile. And we had one going on this guy. So what do we know?"

"I don't…I don't…I don' know." She said, terror in every word.

"We know he likes to spend time with his victims, and that he likes to take his time in harming them. And look, we have food and water, which means he wants to keep us alive for a while. That means we have time for the team to find us, all right. And they will find us, they won't stop looking. All we have to do is survive."

"But what's he going to do to us?"

Spencer had been trying not to think about that. It's not fair, damn it, "Probably a lot."

"Do you…do you know if he rapes his victims?"

Okay, doubly not fair. "I don't know, there was too much damage to be conclusive."

"What if…what if he does?"

"I'll give you the number of a great therapist."

"What?" Ashley snapped out of her panic a moment.

Great, Spencer thought, the only way to calm her down was to play true confessions. Guess what, almost Agent Seaver, I'm a rape survivor engaged to the most amazing girl who was too scared to actually lose his virginity the right way before he came on this trip and now the odds of having my penis burned off are fairly high, so I guess I missed my chance. Want to stop freaking out now? He was going to come up with something much more calming when a door opened further down the tunnel and footsteps started coming toward them.

He was trying to count steps, maybe figure out how far it was to the door when he heard Ashley panting. He looked over and realized it was nearly hyperventilating. He made a gesture to try to get her to knock it off, which meant he stopped paying attention to the footsteps, which meant that when he turned back the Unsub was there.

Wait, he thought, I missed something. How is he going to get me out of this cell?

A moment later something sharp bit his chest, all his muscles went rigid and he fell over.

It took a moment for his brain to actually kick over, but when it did he realized that the Unsub was standing there pointing something resembling a gun at him, except that instead of bullets two wires snaked out and were connected to his chest. Tazer, he realized, that's how he's getting me out of this cell.

In the time it took his muscles to come back on the Unsub had hauled him out of his cell and in to the restraint chair. He was strapped down at the ankles, thighs, waist, chest, upper arms, wrists and lastly his head. He literally couldn't move more than an inch. Now it was his turn to panic. "Look, I know why you're doing this. You're doing this to get back at her and to get back at him for what they did to you. But we're not them, and hurting us isn't going to change what they are doing."

The Unsub had strapped him down with his left arm strapped to the chair arm, palm down, elbow at a ninety degree angle, tucked in close to his body. His right arm was palm up, pulled out, strapped to an extension that came off the side of the chair. "A demonstration of what will happen if she touches you again." The Unsub said as he carefully rolled up Spencer's shirt sleeve, revealing clean, ivory skin and the slight, pink scars left from a needle

"No. Listen to me, please." The Unsub took a sponge and swiped it along his arm, leaving it damp. "We're not even lovers, we work together, please!" He pulled on gloves and tucked some towels between his arm and the wooden chair underneath. "This isn't going to make it better for you, I swear! Please!"

He shook the fine powder over that clean, damp skin.

_Elizabeth tucked her arm under his as they walked out of the National Cathedral._

His skin started to get warm.

_He watched Tobias slide the needle home_

He watched it start to bubble, to blister

_He wrapped his arms around his Mom as she read to him._

His skin started to burn as the blisters turned red.

_He stepped up behind Elizabeth and pulled her into his arms._

He started to scream.


	53. Chapter 53

**Chapter 53 **

**Sheriff's substation**

**Cave Junction, OR**

**Morgan**

"Well, I called in the SAR crews from the surrounding counties. That gives you bodies to work with at least." The sheriff said, coming through the door. "I've set aside the teams made up of my former men as they have the most training. You're also getting every officer that can be spared from the surrounding counties, but to be honest, that's not a lot."

"Thank you." Morgan said with feeling.

"The problem is they need a place to start. They're are miles and miles out there, and I seriously doubt that the back lot of Taylor's is the best place to start the search."

"That's what we're looking for right now." Morgan told him. They were back in the substation, going through the files, now at a frantic pace. The one we really need here, he thought, was Reid. Damn it all to…

Everyone jumped about ceiling high as Hotch closed his phone, looked around calmly and then slammed it down on the table. "What?" Emily asked him.

"Eight hours," Hotch told her. "The fog has come in; every airport from Portland to Los Angeles is shut down, including San Francisco. It's going to take eight hours for field agents from both cities to get down here and help us out."

…to hell, Morgan thought. Sometimes the Unsubs catch all the breaks, don't they?

"Think about it." Rossi told Hotch, "This Unsub likes to keep his victims alive, he held the Greige family for a month, we have time. Reid and Seaver are healthy and strong, we'll get them back; we just have to keep working the profile."

While Rossi had been talking Morgan had been taking a few steps backward. Now he was almost at the other end of the room. Emily frowned and headed over to him. "What are you thinking?"

"Horror movie crap." When Emily looked at him confused he continued in a low voice. "Remember what that Julio said, the one from Miami, good versus evil, right?"

"You think they were taken by Satan?" Emily's voice naturally dripped skepticism.

"No, but you tell me, why is this Unsub catching all the breaks? Why did they have to go missing in one of the most remote parts of the lower 48, in an area with no law enforcement, and with backup eight hours away? And now the weather has turned against us."

Emily just shook her head. "Rossi's right, they're strong and this Unsub doesn't kill right away. We'll get them back."

"Yeah, but if Julio is right the goal of the other side isn't to kill him, it's to get him out of the game. How many injuries like the ones Jeff Greige took would it take before he was too injured or too messed in the head to be a profiler anymore?" He took another step toward the back door and punched in lucky number 7.

"What are you doing?" Emily asked.

"I know it's all superstition, but I'm covering all my bases here. I'm calling in another set of troops."

**Abandoned mine**

**Oregon**

**Spencer**

Well they were right about the medical background, Spencer thought.

Once he had been well sloshed with vinegar to stop the reaction the Unsub had carefully cleaned the wound he had created. Spencer now had a long, open burn from an inch or so behind his wrist to an inch or so short of his elbow. Having it cleaned of the remaining chemicals and bits of dead skin had caused him to black out for some unknown amount of time. Now he was back in his cell and he realized that the wound had been carefully, tidily dressed. It's clean, he thought, and it didn't go through to the underlying tissues and if the Unsub keeps looking after it, it might even heal without infection. Granted that's going to leave one nasty scar. At the moment it just hurt, rather brightly. He sat there next to the bars with his arm cradled in his lap and tried to breathe the pain away. It worked for being shot, he thought, I did it then, I can do this now.

"Dr. Reid?" He heard Ashley's tentative voice calling to him from what sounded like very far away.

He opened his mouth to tell her he was awake and all right, but that took his concentration off building a wall around that pain, which allowed it to come roaring back. "Wait." He managed to gasp out before going back to breathing the pain away.

After a long moment he got control of it again. He could feel his breathing becoming easier, deeper, as the pain went over there somewhere and slowly began to stay there. Now if he just didn't move much…

"Dr. Reid?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"I'm just…I'm so sorry about all this. I keep thinking this must be my fault somehow. The others were talking about the victim's car in the parking lot and it just didn't seem that important. Maybe if I would have paid attention…"

"Ashley," he broke in because his arm was still throbbing and it was going to make him less than polite if she kept going. "Don't take this the wrong way, but when we get back you might talk to Hotch about rotating back into the rest of the FBI for a while. We deal with extreme cases in the BAU; you might be better able to process at this level with a few more years experience."

She was quiet for a moment. "I think you might be right." There was another pause. "Are you all right?" He saw her shake her head out of the corner of his eye. "That's kind of a silly question, I know, but…"

"My hand still works, if that's what you mean." He prepared himself, then flexed each finger and rotated his wrist. Rotating his wrist made the pain flair as the skin shifted, but he could still function. "It's just the skin. I'll heal. What did he do after I passed out?"

"Um, he bandaged you up and then he went away. He stopped to look at me though, and he was muttering."

"What did he say?"

"I don't know, I couldn't hear."

Damn it, that might have been helpful. "Keep trying, if he comes back."

"All right." There was a long pause. "Are you really getting married?" she asked.

What the hell did that have to do with anything? "Eventually, why?"

"Do you think…do you think she'll still want to? I mean, if he…"

"If I take an injury worse than this?" Spencer managed to move enough to look over at her. "Yes. I know she will." He frowned a little in confusion. Ashley was a beautiful woman, no doubt about that, and surely had dated in college. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" She asked

"You would only ask that if most of the men you've dated were so shallow they only cared about looks."

"Oh. No, it's not that. You know about my dad, right?"

"The Redmond Ripper," yes, he knew about her father. "What about him?"

"When most guys find out who I'm related to they take off running."

"Oh." He considered this as the pain tried to burble back to the front of his consciousness. He beat it back again before turning back to her. "You know, it's not in my primary file, but my Mom suffers from paranoid schizophrenia."

"Oh, I'm sorry." He could see the confusion on her face. "Isn't that genetic?"

He nodded. "It is. I have a six to ten percent chance of developing it myself in the next ten years." Not forty, he thought, I've never been so glad to be so wrong.

"Does your fiancée know?"

"Yes, she does. And she agreed to marry me anyway." The thought still amazed him, even now. He could still feel her yes against his lips, her body in his arms. "I know it's a horrible cliché but the right person won't care who your father is or what scars you take from here, internal or external."

"Internal or external?"

Spencer nodded. "This is, uh, the third time I've been held by an Unsub. The last time was the Benjamin Cyrus case."

"I heard of that one. I didn't realize you were one of the agents."

"It wasn't so bad for me, it was much worse for Prentiss. Well, except for the last part where Morgan and I nearly got blown up. But the time before that was the Tobias Hankel case." He slumped back against the wall. "That one didn't work out as well."

"What happened?"

"Kind of a lot." Spencer looked down at his arm and realized that this new burn had erased the track marks Tobias had left. That means something, he thought. "But Elizabeth loves me anyway."

"I guess that's good to know." He watched her pull over a bottle of water and drink. I should really do that, he thought, but at the moment I would just toss it back up. "Is it true, about your memory?" She asked.

"That I can't forget anything?" He watched her nod. "Yes, it is."

"If he does anything to me, please don't watch." She looked down at the bottle. "You shouldn't have to remember that too."

Spencer was about to say something when they heard the door open and footsteps come pounding down the hallway. The Unsub came into view, clearly agitated, angry, pacing back and forth and muttering. "Pretty," he said to Ashley. "You think he's pretty. You said he was so pretty, how could you do that? How could you do that!"

"I didn't say…" Ashley managed to stammer out.

But this Unsub was in too much of a break to even notice. "I'LL SHOW YOU PRETTY!" He howled as he ripped open the door to Spencer's cell and grabbed him, throwing him into the chair before the agent could react. "I'LL SHOW YOU PRETTY!" He howled as he did up the restraints. "I'LL SHOW YOU PRETTY!" He howled as he ripped Spencer's shirt away. "

I'LL SHOW YOU PRETTY!

I'LL SHOW YOU PRETTY!

I'LL SHOW YOU PRETTY!"


	54. Chapter 54

**Chapter 54**

**St. Martin's Episcopal Church**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Elizabeth**

Even though it was not yet dawn, Elizabeth got out of bed, got herself fully dressed and went across the street to open the church. Later she would have no memory of any of it, of putting on her shoes or fixing her hair or lighting the candles in the sanctuary. All she would remember of that long, impossible time was the thoughts going through her head.

It's not fair. Lord, it's not fair. I've given everything to You. I've dedicated my life to You. He's dedicated his life to doing Your work. So why then? Why? Why us? Why now? You have to bring him back to me Lord, You have to. Oh please bring him back to me. Please.

She settled in the front pew, holding herself, rocking gently, praying with all of her heart and soul and being, over and over. Please keep him safe; please bring him back to me. Oh please Lord, oh please.

That was where Harry found her. He settled in next to her and pulled her in to his side. "Shh now, it will be all right. Agent Morgan told me what has happened. We will pray for him. Come now."

A few minutes later Thelma walked in, caught Harry's eye, nodded her understanding, and headed for the phone in her office.

A few moments more and someone touched Harry on the shoulder. He turned to find Pastor Dean and a group of people from Northwest Community church. "We're here to pray with you." Pastor Dean said, as they settled in the pews behind them.

And so it began.

**Abandoned mine**

**Oregon**

**Spencer**

Agony.

Sheer agony.

That was the only way he could describe it. It was somewhat ironic that these new burns hurt more than the one on his arm because they were actually shallower, more superficial. Not that it would matter, they would still scar. And sitting here drenched in the stink of vinegar and lye and his own charred flesh, restrained in a chair with an unstable Unsub nearby, and in utter agony from every hint of draft that brushed the now raw skin of his neck, he ought to be in mortal terror as well. But the terror that he had felt moments ago when the Unsub swabbed down his neck, when he donned gloves and mixed up a thick paste, when he started spreading it over his skin, all the while muttering that she wouldn't think him so pretty anymore, so tasty anymore, had pushed him right past the point where he could no longer be afraid.

He wasn't afraid.

He wasn't.

He was angry.

No, correct that. He was _pissed_.

The quiet, analytical side of his brain, the side that never shut down, noticed that the Unsub appeared to be showing signs of Dissociative Identity Disorder, or a split personality. It was not as complete as it had been for Tobias or for Adam, but it appeared that one personality was deeply angry, and taking some kind of wrong out on him and on Ashley. The other was calmer, more nurturing, and probably didn't quite know what he was doing; only that he was doing it and it was bad. The calmer side was the one responsible for the bandaging, and since the Unsub had yet to switch over he was still stuck here, in the chair, trying hard not to move at all so as not to torment the traumatized nerves, or expose himself to an infection.

The other side, the side of his mind that had just been creeping out into the light, the side that lived in this moment and no other, was about ready to rip someone's head off. It's not fair, he thought, this is just not fair! I finally let go of my fear enough to be touched just there, to accept that much from the woman I love, and now that's taken away. That is just bloody well not fair!

He looked up as the Unsub came back into view. This appeared to be the calmer one, the one who came with a tray of bandages and supplies. A profile is your best weapon, isn't that what Jason always said? "Thank you." Spencer managed to whisper between waves of pain. "Thank you for taking care of us. This really hurts." Appeal to the calmer, nurturing side, see if you can get them to ally with you. In theory that ought to keep that side in control longer.

"I know." The Unsub murmured back. "I am so sorry about this."

"It's all right. I understand. Why don't you just let us go? Why don't…why don't you just let Ashley here go and...and we'll make it all right. Somehow we'll make it right."

"I can't do that. I'm sorry." The Unsub had been laying out his supplies, now he sterilized his hands and put on fresh gloves and took a look at the damage he had caused, examining the burns that now covered the sides of Spencer's neck from ears to shoulder.

"Why not?"

"If you go to the police I'll lose."

"You'll lose? What will you lose?"

"Hang on, this is going to hurt." He had laid some absorbent cloth over Spencer's right shoulder. Now he picked up a bottle of sterile water, cracked the seal, and began to clean the wounds.

Spencer couldn't even scream as the pain made everything go white.

**St. Martin's Episcopal Church**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

In ones and twos and threes people began to find their way to the small church. Seniors from the neighborhood came and stayed most of the day. Doctors, nurses and staff from Georgetown hospital came before and after their shifts. Students and faculty from Georgetown, George Washington and the other universities in the area skipped or canceled classes to come sit for a while. People from St. Martin's and Northwest Community and eventually other churches came to pray as word spread. A group of Roman Catholic Nuns who also volunteered at Second Harvest took up their rosaries; taking turns to be sure one of them was always on her knees. Teachers from the nearest elementary school came at the end of the day, and grateful parents came and brought their children. Cops who had only ever seen each other at a certain morning meeting came and brought others from their departments, some stopping by for a few minutes break while on patrol, some longer. Homeless people from the park across the street came and stayed because it was warm and they wanted to help. Members of the GLBT community who attended one of the few churches where they ever found acceptance came to offer support to those who had supported them. The newly born and the newly wed and the newly bereaved, in ones and twos and threes they filed into the small church and sat for a time to pray.

Eventually Nanny came in, took up her place on Elizabeth's other side. Sam and Danny drove 300 miles in a single shot to sit in the pew behind her. Rabbi Shulman took up a corner where he was joined by others from the Jewish community. Bobby from New York sent word that he would be praying from there, as would as many of the NYPD as he could rally, but the doctor didn't want Sharon to fly. Thelma stood in the back and somehow kept everything going.

Thus, when a slender man with kindly blue eyes and little boy in his arms came up to the front pew that evening no one was truly surprised. It was standing room only in there by now, and the silent crowd had overflowed into the gardens in front of the church. But they were all silent, so when he spoke up it was somewhat shocking. "'Scuse me," he said in a slow southern drawl with a bit of Cajun in it. "I know this is a bad time to meet you and all, but I'm, um, Will. Will LaMontagne, this is Henry."

It took a moment, but eventually Elizabeth's reddened, tear-damp eyes met his, "Spencer's godson?"

"Yeah, that's right. Morgan asked me to come check when you didn't answer your phone."

She slid over to make space for him in the pew and held out her arms for the boy. He put the uncomplaining Henry in her arms, but then stood up. "I got to do one thing first." He stood in the front of the church and opened his cell phone. "You are not going to believe this." He said to the person who answered, and then held it up as he took a short video, slowly turning to take in the entire crowd.

**Sheriff's substation parking lot**

**Cave Junction, OR**

**Morgan**

"Thanks man." Morgan said to Will, and then he gave a satisfied nod at the church full of people, all out to pray for his brother. Now we can beat the damn devil, he thought, now he can't win.

**Abandoned mine**

**Oregon**

_It was hot in the desert. The sky was a bowl of liquid heat poured out over the world. The old football stadium retained that heat, concentrated it, and raised it to the level of a furnace._

_They were laughing._

_Trent and his friends were standing in front of the chair and they were laughing. "I told you I'd hurt you if you ever tried to get close to a girl." Trent yelled at him. "Now look what you made me do."_

"_No!" Spencer yelled at him. Somehow, from somewhere he found the strength, broke the restraints, stood up, and faced his old nemesis head on. "No! I reject you! I reject the fear of you! You are insignificant in my life! You are nothing but a shadow of a memory that can no longer hurt me! If I'm going to be afraid of something it's going to be the real monsters that are out there, not you! You mean nothing to me! When I get out of this, and I will get out of this, I am going to go back home to a life of pleasure and beauty and the woman I love and I am not going to be ashamed or afraid ever again! I am going to continue to stop the monsters out there and you are not going to stop me from doing any of it! I am going to savor every moment of the life I've been given and you…you can just go to hell!"_

_With that, Trent and his friends disappeared._

_It was hot in the desert. The sky was a perfect cerulean blue. The scrub and earth went on and on and finally met where the mountains reached up to the sky. The breeze was a gentle, warm caress full of love and power. He turned when he felt familiar arms go around his waist, turned and wrapped his arms around familiar shoulders, and buried his face in silken, soft curls._

"_Don't be afraid." Elizabeth murmured to him. "You're no longer alone."_


	55. Chapter 55

**Chapter 55**

**Sheriff's substation parking lot**

**Cave Junction, OR**

"Hey guys." Emily called them over to look at a file. "I think I have something."

"What do you have?" Hotch asked as they moved to her table and Morgan moved the laptop to get Garcia in on it.

"Scott Almovar, he's a retired plastic surgeon, and bought a hundred and sixty acres as a hunting camp. According to this he had to sell his house in San Francisco right before the crash due to a very nasty divorce, he ended up clearing five million off the deal."

"Oh, I remember that one." The Mayor said, "He had a private detective following Dela around, she was having affairs with, well, it seemed like everybody." He looked around sheepishly. "She even made a pass at me once."

"Let me guess." Rossi said, "The detective caught her coming out of both motels in town."

"And she was accused of having an affair with the owner of Taylor Sausage." The Mayor nodded.

"Garcia?" Hotch called out.

"Got it, got it," Garcia told them as she typed and typed and…stopped. "Oh my, I think I know what set him off."

"What is it?"

"Dela Almovar and her new lover Su-ji have gone into the porn business. She looks to be the hottest cougar on the net." Garcia sent them a picture of a woman with blue eyes and dark blond hair. "They're producing a serial porn show that's supposed to cater to women. Every few days they show another chunk of the romance, highlighting the physical details."

"When did they open for business?"

"About a week before the Griege's went missing."

"There's your stressor." Rossi said. "He's taking couples that remind him of his ex and her lovers and punishing them for the cheating he's seeing on the web."

"Garcia, can you shut that site down?"

"Can. Will. Am. Done." Garcia said as her fingers flew. "But their most recent update went out this morning."

"Can you stop it?" Rossi asked.

"No sir, once it's out on the net it's out on the net. And I do not see a network connection at his address."

"He's too far out." The Mayor told them. "A lot of people around here will come into town, download and upload at one of the WiFi spots and then go home to look things over at their leisure."

"Garcia?' Hotch asked her.

Her fingers flew. "He's right; he accessed his account forty minutes ago, just long enough to download."

The Sheriff and the Mayor moved to the map on the wall. "God damn it," the Sheriff muttered.

"What is it?" Morgan asked.

"Almovar's property backs up on BLM land. There are caves, old mines, hunting cabins, you name it back there. We've still got a lot of ground to cover. But at least we got a place to start."

"That explains why the damage is so spread out." Rossi said. "He hurts his victims in direct response to what he's seeing in these clips. The timing is based on the videos, not on his internal needs, at least not at the beginning. And then when they continue he ups the ante."

"Garcia." Hotch asked. "What happens in this new clip?"

"I'm looking now, give me a moment." There was a pause. "Oh. Oh. Oh you have to find them right now sir; you have to go find them right now!"

**Abandoned mine**

**Oregon**

**Spencer**

"You're mine."

Spencer dearly didn't want to open his eyes. He wanted to go back to the heat and the desert and to lie in Elizabeth's arms for a while longer. He wanted to stay there until Morgan woke him and told him it was time to go home for good. He certainly did not want to wake down in that mine pit with an agitated Unsub ready to do who knew what to them. He really just wanted to be warm.

He wanted to be warm.

He had to wake up, of course. This time he was lying shirtless on that cold, stone floor, the sides of his neck still open and raw. Let's call the kind side of this Unsub Dr. Jekyll, for lack of another name, Spencer thought; apparently Mr. Hyde is still in command here. Now I'm shivering, which is making it hurt more, but I don't think I'm going into shock. For one thing, I do seem to be thinking clearly, and mental impairment is one of the first signs. Psychological shock from the pain, however, is another possibility.

He just wanted to be warm

"You're mine!" he heard the Unsub say, this time louder and with more agitation behind it

"Yes." Ashley responded to him. "I'm yours. I am yours. Why don't…why don't you let me come out there and…and show you."

Not bad, Spencer thought, not bad. For all that he now firmly believed that Ashley needed more education and more experience before taking on a full time role at the BAU, she showed every indication of becoming an excellent field agent. And one reason for that was her exceedingly high scores in every physical course, including hand-to-had combat. Lure him in, he thought, get him in the cell with the door open or get him to let you out and then take the bastard. Please.

Then he mustered his courage, took a big, deep breath, and rolled his head to see what was going on. For a long moment the pain blinded him to everything else. When his vision cleared he saw something new and worrying.

The Unsub had a handgun in a holster in the back of his pants.

He took a deep breath and tried to catch Ashley's eye. But she was focused on the Unsub and wasn't pay attention; ironic that, Spencer thought, the one time.

"You're lying." The Unsub told her. "You're lying!" There was a distinct clacking sound and then Ashley shrieked and hit the ground. Better the taser than the gun, Spencer thought, but then the Unsub was in the cell and reaching back and bringing the taser itself hard across her cheek. "You're lying!" he screamed as he hit her. "You're lying!" he screamed as he backhanded her across her other cheek. "You're lying!" he screamed as he came down over her and hit again and blood started going everywhere.

"Leave her alone!" Spencer found himself yelling. He had no clue where that sudden burst of strength came from, or how he managed to get to his knees, or how he was managing to drag himself up the bars. "Leave her alone! She's just a cadet! If you want to pick on someone pick on me!"

"SHUT UP! YOU JUST SHUT UP!" For a moment Spencer's heart stopped as he watched the Unsub fiddle with something, and then that something came around and pointed at him. How many times have I had a gun pointed at me, he thought, is this the one that finally does it? I am so sorry beloved; I should have conquered my fear and truly loved you.

There was a clacking noise and a bite to his chest and then the world exploded and he found himself falling. Taser, he realized. Even the bad side here is not truly a killer. Small miracles, right? He fell hard and felt his head bounce and things started going blurry around the edges. I'm sorry Ashley, I am so very sorry. I wish I could be warm.

And then the darkness swallowed him again.

**Almovar's property**

**Cave Junction, OR**

**Morgan**

What the hell was it with this town? Morgan paced around the back of the SUV and shook his head. They needed a warrant to get on to Almovar's property to search for Seaver and Reid, but they couldn't seem to get a judge to go along. He was about to call Will and have him ask everyone to pray harder, for lack of any better ideas.

"Hey Sheriff," a large man with graying hair in a safety orange jacket and hat came over from one of the other vehicles that had pulled up just around the corner from the property. "What's the hold up?"

"Hey Frank, we can't get a warrant." The Sheriff told him.

The large man in the orange jacket started cursing the justice system, thoroughly and fluently.

The Sherriff just chuckled. He turned to Morgan. "Meet Frank Angstrom, LAPD retired. He's the head of the regional SAR K9 unit, one of the best dog handlers in the country."

The man in the orange jacket, Frank, let off the cursing. "You look FBI to me." He said to Morgan. "Do you have scent articles for the missing agents?"

"Derek Morgan, BAU." Morgan shook hands with the man. "Yes, I do." They had raided their go bags, had found the most likely items, put them in bags so as not to pick up any other scent. Now he handed them over.

"Boots! Sally!" Frank whistled and two Labradors, one black, one yellow, came from around the cars. They obediently sat and smelled. "Okay, search!" At the command the two dogs headed out down the road, their handler right behind.

"We don't have a warrant, Frank!" The Sheriff called after him.

In response Frank pulled something from his pocket, fiddled with it, and tossed something silver back at them. "Oh look, my GPS died! I have no clue where I am! Whatever shall I do?"

"You get shot for trespassing, don't call me!" The Sheriff called back.

Morgan couldn't help but chuckle. "Oregon?" He asked the Sheriff.

"Oregon."

Several hours later Frank and his dogs made it back to the vehicles. "Nothing, not even a hint of interest. I'd bet money that those two agents have never been near any building on that place. But his vehicle is in the garage, Almovar's on foot at least."

"All right then." The Sheriff nodded. "He's got to be in the BLM land. It's a search."


	56. Chapter 56

**Chapter 56**

**Abandoned mine**

**Oregon**

**Spencer**

"_Do you really think you can beat me, boy?"_

_Spencer opened his eyes. The cell was cold, colder than it had been, and stank of fish livers, human filth and blood. The voice was the deep growl of Charles Hankel, but when he opened his eyes it was Robert Thorne glaring down at him. "Do you really think you can win?"_

_Either I'm hallucinating, Spencer thought, or I'm dreaming or I'm delusional. But I think I know who I'm talking to._

_He got to his feet, finding the strength coming from somewhere, some unknown something that propelled him to his feet. He stood there, swaying slightly, feeling the cool chill on his body, the sensation of blood and fluid dripping down from his neck, which strangely did not hurt at all. He turned and faced Thorne/Hankel head on. "Do you know what you are? I mean, when you get right down to the essential nature of the problem. You are an Unsub. You are an __Unsub__, nothing more and nothing less. And Jason was right, the greatest weapon we have against an Unsub is a working profile."_

_Thorne/Hankel chuckled. "You think you can profile me, boy?"_

_Spencer ignored that and continued. "Why are you attacking me like this? You have never come after me in a way that would harm my intelligence. You have never hampered my ability to do my job. Even when I was shot I could still sit behind a desk and analyze data. You have never disrupted my ability to think, to reason, to remember and organize data, to come to a logical conclusion. Even Strauss didn't come after me, not really. Other than Rossi who arguably out ranks her based on seniority alone I'm the only one whose career she hasn't tried to derail one way or another."_

_Thorne/Hankel chuckled._

_Spencer ignored that too. "No, your attacks have always been personal and have always been focused on my ability to form relationships, to connect with other people. You killed off my best childhood friend, you sent my Father away and you drove my Mother insane. You sent Ethan away from the academy, you convinced Elle to do what she did and then had her run, you sent Frank Breitkopf to kill off the people Jason cared about to send him away, you had Strauss send JJ away, you had Jason Clark Battle shoot Garcia_, _and you nearly had George Foyet kill Hotch and Billie Flynn kill Morgan and now this one is going after Seaver. Why? You would probably have destroyed Elizabeth by now except she's clergy and thus protected from your view. You have targeted nearly everyone I have every cared about, all to keep me isolated. Why?"_

_Thorne/Hankel chuckled again, his eyes filled with a bilious hate._

_And when you have attacked me directly it's always been in ways designed to disconnect me from my sexuality, to force me into a state of dissociation, to attempt to render me unable to connect, even with my own body. Why? Even this Unsub is targeting the ways I've been trying to reconnect. Why? I'd be willing to bet even the drug abuse was meant to keep me detached from that aspect of my psyche, although I'm not certain how yet. See, just like any Unsub you're behavior follows a pattern, but what is the focus of that pattern? Why do you want to keep me disconnected from friends, family and even my own body? What do those three things have in common?_

_In one flash he saw the locus of the pattern._

_Thorne/Hankel growled._

_Everything changed._

**St. Martin's Episcopal Church**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Thelma**

The church stayed open the entire time. The crowds grew and shrunk according to the time and the ability of people to be away from work or home or obligation. But there was always someone there with her, sending prayers and support heavenward for the two missing agents.

Sometime past sunset Thelma came down to the front of the sanctuary and looked over her young friend. She looked tired and worn, leaning on Sam's shoulder, her eyes pointed in the direction of the cross although they clearly looked inward. She hadn't moved in all this time, had not left that pew, only sat there and sent her beloved all the energy she could.

Which will not do if she makes herself sick, Thelma thought.

She went to the sanctuary and began to make her preparations. Not too much time later she went back to the church and took Elizabeth's arm and tugged her to her feet. "Come on." Once inside the sanctuary she pushed her gently in the direction of the bathroom. "Go clean up, wash your face, then come out here and have some soup. You haven't eaten all day."

"I'm all right Thelma; I'm doing what needs to be done." But she still went obediently to the bathroom for a few minutes and then came back out to stare at the mug of soup before her.

"You know I'm rethinking this whole dating an FBI agent business." Thelma said, even though she knew it was not her business. "You deserve better than this kind of misery."

Thelma could tell by the strength of the Southern drawl that Elizabeth was tired. "There is no such thing as better, Thelma. He's the best there is."

"And he's putting you through this? Choosing the job over you? That's the best there is?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "He's not putting me through this and he's not choosing a job over me. It's not a choice for him, it's what he is. He has to fight Old Scratch; he's not the sort who could ever walk away from that battle, just like I never could. He's just fighting more hands on like." She took a big sip of her soup. "I'm the one who's choosing to fight at his side. I want to be here. I want to help him as much as I can, even if all I can do is pray for him. But if I can look after his family and take care of myself so he can lean on me when he needs then so much the better."

"Even if it wears you out in the process?"

Elizabeth looked at her. "I see it as wearing myself out in service to the Lord. Can't think of any better way of spending my time down here. Besides, I happen to love him." She finished the soup. "Now since all I can do right now is pray, I'm going to go get back to it."

**Abandoned mine**

**Oregon**

**Spencer**

_It was hot in the desert. The sky was a perfect azure blue. The land was draped in soft colors and delicate wildflowers all the way to the mountains on the horizon. He held her in his arms, and buried his nose in her curls and the wind blew strength and warmth and the sound of crystal pure laughter around them. Faeries, he thought, like the stories Mom used to read me. That's the sound of three…four…no, five faeries laughing._

_He looked up, finally, looking for the source of that sweet, magical sound. "What is that?" He asked her_

_She listened a moment and smiled. "Don't you know?"_

"_Who is that?' He asked, looking again. "Where are they?"_

"_Don't you know?" She repeated, and her eyes were full of love._

_He looked back at her, looked into her eyes, and he knew. "This is what he's so afraid of?"_

"_This and what this will make you become."_

Spencer coughed himself awake and looked up at the Christmas lights. For the record, he thought, we are doing multicolored lights next year. Damn it, I'm still not warm. I'm probably going into hypovolemic shock, that's what killed the last victim. That's not good.

He slowly, gingerly managed to push himself up to a sitting position, fighting back waves of nausea as the pain threatened to overwhelm him. He sat with his back against the wall and looked across the tunnel to Ashley's cell. "Ashley?' She was huddled in a small ball. Even from here he could hear her quiet sobbing, see that her face was turning blue and purple and her body was…oh no. "Ashley!" She finally turned her battered, tear streaked face toward him. "I am so sorry." He said. "This is my responsibility and I am truly sorry." Then he coughed again, a deep cough that send pain rolling from his neck outward.

She shook her head. "It's my fault. I wasn't ready and I should have been paying attention…"

"Shhh," Spencer tried to calm her. You're not going to win, he thought, no more killing off my connections with people. No more. "I'm the senior agent here, this situation is my responsibility, and I am sorry I couldn't stop it. Now when we get back, and we will get back, I am going to help you get through this."

She shook her head again. "You can't. You don't understand."

He took a deep breath. "Yes, I do. It happened to me to, back in high school." He nodded as the light dawned in her eyes. "Now you are not going to spend sixteen years burying this and this is not going to drive you out of the Bureau. When we get back I am going to get you some help and I am going to help you stay with your career. I promise." Why was he coughing like this?

"Thank you." She whispered. "Thank you Dr. Reid."

He managed a smile, even as a wave of pain sent him shivering from the cold. "Ashley, start calling me Spencer."

The door at the end of the tunnel flew open again.


	57. Chapter 57

**Chapter 57**

**Almovar Property**

**Cave Junction, Oregon**

For a place that didn't have cops this county could raise one hell of a search. Morgan carefully navigated the SUV between crowds of volunteers, horses, dogs, trucks, and god only knew what all else. The Sheriff had even gotten the National Guard involved; they had helos in the air as radio relay points, and a BlackHawk medical evac on standby. Morgan finally found a likely place to park and headed over to the command center. "I did not expect all this." He told the Sheriff. "Not from a place without any law enforcement."

"We have good people out here." The Sheriff told him. "They'll gladly give you their time or their sweat or even their blood if you need help. But their money is kinda sacred to them."

**JaCo SAR Team 9**

**Oregon**

"I'm hoping that this will convince the people out here to actually fund law enforcement." At the moment Mat was bringing up the rear of the team searching this particular grid square. He was a younger man, early 30's perhaps, with a friendly, easy going disposition, a Mountan Man beard, and a build familiar to anyone who ever met Derek Morgan. He was a supply and logistics coordinator at a local hospital, but before that he had been an EMT for a number of years, which was why he was the team Medic. Before that he had been in the Marine Corps, a time he never talked about, but to which he attributed his build and his ability to take down psych patients when needed.

"Gawd I hope not. Last thing we need is more of them corrupt politicians sticking their noses in our business and their hands in our wallets." Wayne was walking a little ahead of Mat. Shorter, stringier, wiry, old enough to complain about Social Security and Medicare, he had spent his entire life in these mountains, hunting, logging, farming, working odd jobs here and there. With his trucker's cap and coke-bottle glasses he was the kind of Bachelor Farmer that could be found in cafes and diners from coast to coast, holding forth with opinions on all sorts of topics, although local politics were usually preferred. As he did for every search he brought a GPS (the Sheriff insisted) a radio (people don't know how to listen when you yell anymore, a battered canteen (well, that just makes sense) and his 30-06 deer rifle (that buck tried to attack me Sheriff, swear.) "I miss the days when you could subscribe to things like that, everyone had to pay their own fair way."

"Gentlemen." Karen said with a warning tone. The wife of the Mayor, somewhere in that timeless land between 30 and retirement, she had the slightly perky attitude and pleasant blond good looks of a life long realtor. Moving to the middle of nowhere from LA had given her a chance to peruse a dream, and now she was taking full advantage. And she'd enjoy it so much more if the two men with her would just shut up for a while.

"Subscribe? So you would let your neighbor's house burn down, or his children die on the way to the hospital because they didn't subscribe to city services?" Mat asked.

"If folks can't take care of their own that ain't my get out, now, is it?" Replied Wayne

"Gentlemen, please!" Said the exasperated Karen. "Can we save the politics for base camp? Thank you."

Just then the primary member of the team, their entire reason for being out here, raised his head from the trail, and chuffed.

**Abandoned Mine**

**Oregon**

The door at the end of the tunnel flew open again.

The Unsub came in, agitated to the point of being enraged. He reached the cells and glared down at Ashley. "You touched him! Why did you do that? Why? I put you in here so you would behave and now look at you! You had to go touching him!" He paced back and forth, working himself to a higher pitch. "You stuck your hands down his pants! Why! WHY!"

Ashley was cringing away in a corner, understandably frightened. Spencer tried to haul himself to his feet but fell back as a wave of dizziness overcame him. Down his pants? He thought of the Thorne/Hankle Unsub in his dreams. Nicely played, he thought, but I'll still sort a way. "Leave her alone, please. She never touched me, I swear."

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! I SAW HER! I SAW!" The Unsub yanked open Ashley's cell and hauled her out, throwing her into the chair and pinning her there, getting the first of the restraints on her before she could react. "Not gonna touch him again. Not gonna. I'll show you. I'll show you."

He's delusional, Spencer thought, but something is feeding his delusions. He thinks Ashley is someone close to him, a wife or lover or relative, and I'm her lover. He must be seeing those people somehow. He tried to focus as another wave over took him. I think I'm starting to slip here, he realized, this is not good. Not good at all.

**JaCo SAR Team 9**

**Oregon**

"What is it?" Mat asked.

"Dog's got something." Wayne told him.

The dog in question was Rio, an eight year old purebred Doberman. Quiet, well-behaved despite his large size and aggressive, even frightening appearance, extremely intense, he and Karen had already successfully ended eight other searches in these mountains. Now he pricked his ears and stood looking down a branch off the main trail

"You got something boy?" Karen asked him. "You got something?"

Rio looked intently down the trail, bent to catch a scent, and turned to look at her. When he looked back down the trail he was an arrow of pent up energy, just waiting to be fired.

"Rio. Rio." When the dog looked back at her for confirmation, Karen gave him the signal. "Search"

Rio flew toward the mountain.

**Abandoned Mine**

**Oregon**

As Spencer tried to force his mind to focus Ashley's cries took on a new, more terrified tone. He blinked and focused again to see that the Unsub had strapped her down with her hands palm up, and open, and was tying her fingers down.

"Not gonna touch him again. Not gonna." The Unsub staggered off back down the tunnel as he had before.

This is not good, Spencer thought. I will heal from what he's done to me so far. I may have some scars, I may need some grafts, it may take time, but these burns are on smooth, straight skin, which gives them the best possible chance to heal without complications. Hands are different, they have lots of joints, have to be very mobile, have to maintain sensitivity. Scars on the palms of your hands are bad. He's about to cripple her, and she probably knows it. "Ashley!" He whispered to her. "Ashley!" When she looked up he did his best to project calm confidence. "We'll get through this. I swear." Like I can make that promise, he thought. And does his ranting mean I'm going to have lye down the pants next?

Then he watched Ashely look down the tunnel, back in the direction of the door. He managed to turn and look back that way and saw the most remarkable thing.

There was a dog standing in the middle of the passageway.

**JaCo SAR Team 9**

**Oregon**

"Where the hell did he go?' Wayne asked.

They had climbed up an outcropping of rocks only to find a quad ATV parked behind one of the boulders. But Rio was no where in site.

Mat looked over the quad. "This has to be our guy. I'm going to radio it in." He stepped back down a bit to try to raise the National Guard relay plane overhead.

Karen stood there a moment, utterly confused. Rio had to be somewhere. She pulled out her dog whistle and blew.

**Abandoned Mine**

**Oregon**

The dog in question looked to be a Doberman, purebred, clearly male, maybe a hundred pounds of sleek muscle. Please don't let it be the Unsubs, Spencer thought as he inched a hand out between the bars, please don't let it not like me. Please. He reached a hand out and the dog came over for a quiet, dignified sniff and he saw one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen in his life.

The dog had a Search and Rescue tag on it's collar.

Then the dog turned and ran back the way he had come.

He turned to Ashley and had just enough time to quietly whisper "It's a Search dog!" before he saw the Unsub coming back with a bowl in his hands.

**JaCo SAR Team 9**

**Oregon**

Karen turned and watched Rio come out from between two boulders. He bounded down the rocks and jumped, planting his two front paws in the center of her chest and knocking her back to the ground. He stood there, his tongue hanging out, his backside wiggling for lack of a tail, clearly utterly overjoyed.

"What does that mean?" Wayne asked

"He found something." Karen grunted as she shoved the dog off. "He probably found them"

"Well sonofabitch!" Wayne said, and far nimbler than any man his age had a right to be he ran off and down between the rocks where Rio had gone.

"Wayne! We're supposed to call it in! Wayne!" Dam the old bastard. "Mat!" Karen called down to the other man. "This way!" She got up and her and Rio followed after him.

**Abandoned Mine**

**Oregon**

Spencer could only watch as Ashley whimpered and pleaded with the Unsub, as he put the bowl of caustic paste down and proceeded to tuck towels under her hands to protect the chair. "Don't. Please don't. You'll cripple her. Please, start with me. Please." Even a few minutes delay, he thought, the handler can't be far behind that dog.

"Not gonna touch him again. Not gonna." The Unsub muttered as he bent to pick up his gloves.

"Hey!" Someone called out behind them.

Spencer didn't have time to see who it was. The Unsub turned, looked for a moment, then pulled out his gun and fired down the tunnel. In this enclosed space the sound was nearly deafening, Spencer just barely had time to clap his hands over his ears in an effort to spare them from the worst.

A second later a louder clap echoed down the tunnel.

As the Unsub slumped to the floor Spencer decided to black out for a while.

**JaCo SAR Team 9**

**Abandoned Mine**

**Oregon**

"That sonofabitch shot first!" Wayne yelled at whoever was listening. "That sonofabitch shot first!"

"Godammit Wayne, you could have killed somebody!" Karen yelled, grabbing the now barking Rio by the collar and hauling him back out of the old mine. The last thing they needed was for Rio to decided to bite Wayne, even though he'd be right in doing so.

Then both of them were shoved into the wall as Mat went by, moving like a freight train.

Mat got down to where a woman was restrained in a chair, covered with blood. "Are you hurt?" He asked first, noticing the body on the floor that was now missing a large chunk of torso, and her shocked expression. Even as she was shaking her head he was looking over, making sure none of that blood was hers. "Are you hurt?" He asked again, hoping for a verbal response.

"No, I'm all right. Check on Spencer." She nodded toward what looked like a cell. "The Unsub has the keys."

Mat didn't have a clue what an Unsub was, but figured she probably meant the dead guy. The ring of keys on his belt opened the cell on the third try as Karen and Wayne came down after him. "Karen, would you get her out of that thing and make sure she's all right, please." The two victims matched the pictures of who they were looking for. Two burns on his neck, he realized, shallow second degree, and something under a bandage on his arm. But his skin was clammy and pale and he was breathing too fast. "Wayne! Go radio it in, we're going to need a medical evac, this one's going in to shock."

"All right, but that sonofabitch shot first." Wayne argued as he headed for the tunnel mouth.

"Whatever, just move your scrawny ass!"

**Almovar Property**

**Cave Junction, Oregon**

"EVERYBODY QUIET!" The search manager called out.

Within a moment the camp went from bustling to deathly still. The Sheriff went to stand by the search manager in the command post as the manager picked up the radio. "Say again, over."

"Subjects have been located. Repeat, subjects have been located." the person on the other end of the radio repeated. He gave a string of coordinated. "Medical evac required."

The entire camp cheered as the Sheriff gave the signal to fire up the BlackHawk. Hotch turned to Morgan. "Go." He said.

Morgan was running to the helo before the word made it out of his mouth.

**National Guard Rescue Helicopter**

**Northwest US airspace**

They wouldn't let him out of the dammed helo.

Morgan sat there and fretted and wished he could pace or hit something or someone or anything really. He'd wanted to go down there and help or at least comfort, but they wouldn't let him out of the dammed helo. "I am not taking the time to haul you back up." The rescue commander told him.

And so he had to sit there and wait as the rescue team went down on ropes and then they flew around for a while, and then eventually they brought Seaver up first because she didn't require a stretcher. She looked like she had been pretty well worked over, but when he asked if she was all right she nodded. "I will be" She said.

Then they hauled up the stretcher basket. They had Reid so well wrapped in blankets that only his face showed, had an IV going already, had an oxygen mask over his face. But he was awake and coherent enough to look over to Morgan and try to say something. "Just lay there." Morgan yelled at him over the sound of the blades. "We're going to a hospital."

Spencer tried to say something again.

Morgan shook his head. "Just lay there, kid, just relax."

Spencer reached up and tried to move the mask so he could say something, much to the medic's displeasure.

Morgan finally slid over and leaned down so he could hear. "All right, what?"

"No narcotics." Spencer told him.

Morgan sat up, laughing. Everything was going to be all right.


	58. Chapter 58

**Chapter 58**

**St. Martin's Episcopal Church**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

It was so quiet in the church that everyone jumped about ten feet when Will's phone rang. "Hey Garcia…yeah... What's wrong? ...okay…all right…I'll get it going…let Morgan know…okay."

He was smiling when he turned to the crowd. "Hey everybody, that was a friend of ours at the FBI, my son's mama used to work there. She said they found them, they're on their way out of there, they're gonna be all right."

It took a moment to sink in, but then the entire crowd burst into cheers.

**Nowhere**

_If he was dealing with dissociation disorder, in his case triggered by a series of traumatic events, or if he was hallucinating, or perhaps just dreaming, at least he was doing so in a highly organized fashion._

_Dr. Reid stood on a small platform or stage in what he recognized as a small auditorium style lecture hall. It looked a bit too Victorian, a bit too grand to be one of the ones at CalTech, really, but it might have been just about any University. No matter, really, he had several whiteboards, a felt board for pictures, a pen, and the sense that he had an audience. Was anything more needed?_

"_Jason Gideon once said that the greatest weapon we have against an Unsub is a profile. A profile allows you to predict the Unsubs next move, thereby allowing you to consciously choose your actions as opposed to simply reacting to their moves. In this case we'll be looking at a geographic profile as well as victimology. Given the nature of the Unsub in question I do not believe that any of the known psychological states would be applicable."_

"_Dr. Reid." A student in the front row spoke up. "Are you actually trying to profile Satan?"_

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

"Who's going to cover Mass on Sunday?" Elizabeth asked, looking up from the mug of soup she was working her way though.

"I'll get some of the junior staff from the Cathedral down here to take care of it." Harry told her from his perch at her counter, "They need the practice."

"I have four weddings on Saturday."

"I'll send someone over to cover them." He told her.

"What about the rest of my appointments?"

"I have a copy of your calendar." Thelma said from where she was helping with the packing. "I'll call them and cancel."

"How am I getting there?"

"You want us to drive you?" Danny asked. He and Sam were sitting at her table, actually drinking tea. Rather shocking for them.

"Garcia's on her way with the tickets." Will told her from where he was sitting at the other end of the table with Henry on his lap. "Rossi's flying you two out there first class. Are you done?" He asked Henry, who was working on a get well picture for his godfather and another for Ashley Seaver.

"First class no less?" Elizabeth asked. "That man is a saint."

Nanny poked her head out of the bathroom door. "Do you really only have two t-shirts?" She asked, holding up a worn one in Harvard crimson.

"Actually I sleep in those. Just pack my collared shirts; I wear them all the time anyway. Oh, Thelma honey, would you grab the books off my desk, please."

"Sure." A few moments later Thelma came back. "Okay, the Bible I can see, and I know I'm not going to stop you from taking your organizer, but what's with all the poetry?" Elizabeth could feel her blush rising. "Never mind, forget I asked." Thelma said, tossing them into her bag.

"I'm packing your skirts." Nanny called to her. "Your jeans will take up too much room."

"I do not believe I'm doing this." Elizabeth fretted, "Who's going to feed Tiberius?"

Thelma growled in frustration as the men in the room started to chuckle. "Oh will you just go!"

**Nowhere**

"_That is a very good question. On the one hand I firmly believe I am in a state of hypovolemic shock and so am probably hallucinating. On the other hand I dislike using the term "Satan" as much as I dislike using the term "God" or "Christ" or any other proper nouns because that implies an independent being that is both sentient and self-directing and no empirical proof of such a being exists. However, for the purpose of this thought exercise we shall presume the existence of the Holy Spirit, or perhaps just Spirit, as a force in the universe intended to counteract the natural tendency of the universe and the beings in it towards entropy. Granted increasing entropy is the natural state of the universe, however Spirit has the addition of force behind it, probably generated by the millions of human beings who simply want to do good and make the world better. Now we have theorized amongst our team that if you are going to believe in something like Spirit than you must believe in its opposite, and vice versa. For lack of a better term let's call that force Chaos, being a force designed to encourage entropy. At the moment we are profiling a specific offshoot of Chaos that seems to be picking on me."_

"_But if it's directly picking on you, Doctor, wouldn't that require it to be both sentient and self-directed?" Student asked?_

_Spencer sighed. "Good point. All right then, let's just call him the Satan, and assume he's a real being. But I reserve the right to withdraw that consideration when I return to full health. Now, when looking at a victim the question we ask is why this victim at this time? Looking at myself as the victim, I have to ask, why me, why now? Looking at the last point first why now does not need to be specified because looking back at my personal history I believe that Satan has been throwing Unsubs in my direction since I was very young in the hopes of preventing me from accomplishing certain tasks or goals or mental states. For examples see the handout I passed out earlier, beginning with __Gary Brendan Michaels. Based upon his past performance we can assume he will continue to use Unsubs to try to prevent me from accomplishing those particular goals in the future."_

"_What goals are those, Dr. Reid?' Student asked._

"_I am not enumerating them at the moment because up to now Satan has been so successful in discouraging me from such a goal that I can only poke gingerly at the concepts with a metaphoric mental stick. However once we have completed enough of a game plan to avoid any immediate threats I intend to consider them at length. Now, we know the Unsub is his primary weapon. While we might assume that because I'm currently on a National Guard helicopter and SSA Morgan is watching me like a hawk, that the chance of being assaulted by an Unsub are slim. However I have just been rescued from an Unsub, so recently in fact that we cannot consider this encounter over."_

"_How so?" Student asked. Student was clearly full of questions._

"_Satan's goal is to disrupt my ability to form certain supportive relationships, specifically those that could lead to or support family formation. To that end part of what he hopes to accomplish with the use of an Unsub is forced entry into the medical care system. The medical system unwittingly continues the effect of the Unsub, namely cutting me off from interpersonal support, violating personal boundaries and causing physical discomfort and even outright pain. For example, it currently feels like we're landing, which means in a few moments I'm going to be entering into an emergency room environment, where I will be treated as a burn patient suffering from hypovolemic shock. One of the primary ways of determining the level of hypovolemic shock as well as the success of treatment is to measure urine output which means I'm about to get a catheter."_

"_Ouch." Student was at least sympathetic, that was nice. "I don't understand, Dr. Reid, if the encounter is ongoing, how can this be fought?"_

"_The question is in how I respond to the violation. See, this is the closest I've ever come to a physical relationship, perhaps I should say this and direct encounters with various Unsubs, and based on that I had assumed that all physical contact would be uncomfortable at best and directly painful at worse, and so physical relationships were best avoided altogether. In other words I had lost hope, and the loss of hope is Satan's primary goal, for if there is no hope of making your life and by extension this world better then there's no reason to provide energy to augment the force that aids Spirit in fighting entropy. In my case I've come to realize that that loss of hope also prevented me from attempting to attempt several actions that would more directly combat entropy and caused me to attempt actions that would negate my ability to fight including but not limited to actions that would have caused me to be dismissed from the BAU, for example, turning to narcotics for physical comfort."_

"_So you are attempting to fight Satan by…not losing hope?"_

"_Exactly," Spencer was pleased, Student was catching on. "In fact, I not only have hope that I will at some point enter into a caring, nurturing physical relationship, I am actively planning to do so in the near future. And I intend to use this time to map out my plan of attack, for lack of a better term." He turned from his whiteboard where he had been industrially scribbling notes to smile at Student. "I have come to realize that by doing so I will take the first step in winning a major battle against Satan."_

**Providence Medical Center**

**Medford, OR.**

Hotch and the rest of the team had to drive two hours down to this hospital, simply because it was the only one in the area that had a landing pad capable of accepting a Black Hawk. But he drove faster than he should, and they arrived just as the doctor was coming out to talk to Morgan. "How is he, doctor?"

"Better than I expected." The doctor told them. "He has burns on less than four percent of his body, and none of it is third degree. Only one percent is even a deep second-degree. I want to keep him under observation for two or three days, but he should heal nicely in about four to six weeks."

"Why observation?" Hotch asked.

"Some of those burns are on his neck. We'll want to make sure none of the fumes were inhaled which would cause an increased risk of fairly severe complications. In addition shallow second-degree burns are the most painful, so we'll want to keep him here on pain meds until they start to heal." The doctor held up his hands to ward off the next question. "Agent Morgan made it abundantly clear that he was refusing all narcotics, so we have him on non-narcotic pain relievers, but we still have him fairly out of it right now."

"All right, what about Agent Seaver?"

"She was beaten pretty well, black eyes, cracked a cheekbone, nothing too drastic for an FBI agent I would think, but no major injuries." The doctor looked down at his notes and sighed. "The rape kit came back positive. I'll send a counselor her way."

Hotch nodded, "Thank you doctor."

"Do either of them have next of kin we ought to contact?"

"I'll speak with Agent Seaver and see if she wants us to contact her family. Dr. Reid's mother has been ill, it's best that we wait for him to contact her. His fiancée is on her way out from DC."

"Very good."


	59. Chapter 59

**Chapter 59**

**Nowhere**

"_All right, but why have hope now? What has changed?"_

"_That is where the geographic profiling comes in. If Julio's theory of theodicy is correct then there are places in the world hidden from Spirit, where it cannot observe directly and so cannot directly influence events. If that is the case then the general rule of balance in the universe indicates that there are also places where Satan cannot observe directly and so cannot directly influence events. These areas are commonly called cursed and holy ground, respectively. I theorize that there are also people who cannot be observed or influenced by one or the other. I give you as a classic example __Floyd Feylinn Ferrell the cannibal from Florida vs, well, Elizabeth who as a dedicated member of the clergy is clearly on the side of Spirit."_

"_So if neither Satan nor Spirit can see into the other side's, um, call them encampments, how do they influence anyone located inside those areas?"_

"_They have to send in people who are dedicated one way or the other, then cross their fingers and hope the battle goes their way. Julio called them Saints or Egun, which are good enough terms for the purpose of this discussion. For example any Unsub could potentially be an Egun, whereas the SAR team who hiked into the woods knowing there was a killer on the loose would be considered Saints."_

"_Wouldn't the BAU team be considered Saints?" _

"_Please note, Student, flattery will not increase your grade in this class. Now, I've come to agree with him that what influences the creation of an encampment, cursed ground or holy ground, is the presence of a person or group of people dedicated to either Satan or Spirit, either one person with a great deal of energy or many with small amounts of energy that accrue over time. See, one of the big problems I think I was having was where I chose to live, I lived in a neighborhood with a high level of petty crime, a number of buildings that had fallen into disrepair, and so on, basically a neighborhood that was succumbing to entropy. And those surroundings contributed to my lack of hope. Morgan's home would be considered more positive because of all the actions he's taken in combating entropy, and Elizabeth's home would be considered the pinnacle, partially because of its hundred year history as a place dedicated to housing people who have combated entropy, but also because of the power of the personal vow they took in the service of Spirit, not that Morgan hasn't. You can consider the oath taken when one joins the FBI as such, but Holy Orders are much more explicit. Now you would consider the BAU to be Holy Ground by the sheer number of people who work there who have dedicated themselves to combating entropy, but I actually believe he was able to make his way into the BAU through me, specifically through my relationship with my Mother and my habit of telling her everything. That information was passed on to Randall Garner who unwittingly became an Egun."_

"_Would this mean your Mother was also an Egun?"_

"_Not by choice. She never would have been had she known, but after her psychotic break at the murder of __Gary Brendan Michaels she developed Schizophrenia and that made her vulnerable. That's sad, really. Thankfully it seems to have been a short term, very minor involvement. Anyway, since that time I believe that Satan has had the BAU under observation and has been both attempting to destroy any supportive relationships I've developed there and attempting to hinder our ability to directly combat him as a team. For the first attempt on his part in the timeline please see the handout on Elle Greenway."_

"_You never said how geographic profiling was helping you maintain hope." Student pointed out._

"_Oh. I think that when we go out after an Unsub we are willingly entering in to the enemy's camp, which is when we're… I'm the most vulnerable. Conversely when I'm with Elizabeth, and especially at the rectory, I'm at my most protected. Call it a place of refuge if you will. So, as soon as we get back to DC and I get the all clear from the doctor I am going to seduce Elizabeth in the rectory. And Satan is not going to stop me because if I do it right, he won't know until it's too late."_

**Dulles International Airport**

**Washington DC**

They made an odd pair hiking through the airport, the young Reverend in all black and Roman collar and…well, Garcia. But between collar and ID they made it through security and sat waiting for their plane to board. Garcia pulled out her knitting, which clearly held Elizabeth's attention. "What?' She asked, kindly.

"I used to do that. My Nanna taught me back in college. I don't remember why I gave it up."

"Want to start again?" Garcia asked. "I have, like, spares of everything."

"Do you have the stuff to do socks?" Elizabeth asked.

"You bet I do." Garcia said, rummaging through her bag. "Are you sure though? I mean, if they're for Reid, he's got to have huge feet."

"Yeah, but I'll never have to knit a pair."

**Nowhere**

_There was a small smattering of applause around the room. "Um Dr. Reid" Student spoke up as it died down. "It says here in your notes that you wanted that event to take place in a country inn. Doesn't giving up this ideal represent a loss of hope?"_

"_No, I don't believe so. I believe I can, to use a phrase common to the military, improvise, adapt and overcome. See, I'm a romantic. It's not something I've been comfortable admitting to publically before because in the past every time I've admitted such things Satan has been able to use the knowledge to create distance between me and others, making others see me as too different or some kind of freak, or making me think they were believing it, thereby making it harder to form relationships. Another aspect to this epiphany is that I am not going to let him do that anymore. I am what I am and I am not going to hide it any longer. I am a romantic. I should have come of age during the Progressive Era, roughly from the 1890's to the 1920's, a time when science and scientists were heralded and had their greatest respect in history. It also encompassed the Arts and Crafts movement and the Art Nouveau era, periods I truly appreciate for their art, literature, music, even fashion. I want to live a life as much like the one I would have enjoyed a hundred years ago as I can, I admit this at least to myself. Well, the rectory was built in 1901, during the Arts and Crafts movement, and both it and the church incorporate elements of the Art Nouveau movement as well. Granted the master bedroom needs a good cleaning, but I think it will be the perfect place to set a romantic seduction."_

"_I thought you favored literature from the Medieval and Reformation eras and the time in between?"_

"_I do. And the Art Nouveau movement embraced that time period as well. Look at the work of the __Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood for example. You cannot get a more perfect example than "The Accolade" by Edmund Blair Leighton, even though he was only loosely associated with the Brotherhood, and it was painted in 1901. And his "God Speed" is just exquisite."_

"_What about his "Till Death Us Do Part." Are you not committing a crime against romance by not waiting until after marriage vows for this seduction?"_

"_Perhaps, but we are engaged and so we are committed and I think I'd best accomplish this before I go back into battle with Satan. That is, before I go back to work after the medical leave I'm going to be taking."_

"_And what if Elizabeth says no?"_

_Spencer turned to Student and frowned as the air in the lecture hall became scented with gardenias and someone took his hand very gently. "That is my one concern."_

**Providence Medical Center**

**Medford, OR**

Spencer opened his eyes and found himself staring at a cross hanging above the door. A religious based hospital, he thought, I wonder if that means they have a chapel. I wonder if that indicates holy ground. It would be nice to be that safe at this moment.

He very carefully, very slowly turned his head as far as his damaged neck would allow and looked at Elizabeth. He felt the deep down desire to communicate his epiphanies, to sum up his recent lecture, to ask her if she was willing to participate…"Have I ever told you how hot you look in your cassock?" He asked, very sleepily.

Elizabeth looked over at Morgan. "Are you sure he's not on narcotics?"

Morgan chuckled, "So they told me. They said he started fighting them in the ER so they gave him a sedative, but not one that's going to cause a problem."

"Are you still willing to have sex with me?" Spencer asked her, quite seriously even though he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. "Hopefully sometime in the immediate future?"

Morgan laughed harder as he watched Reverend Bess turn red. "I'm going to go wait outside."

"That might be a good plan, thank you." Elizabeth said to him. Once the door closed behind him she turned back to Spencer. "Are you really propositioning me from your hospital bed?"

"If I have hope then Satan can't win." Spencer carefully nodded the nod of the extremely well medicated; "Which is not any sort of admittance of belief in a sentient entity commonly known as Satan."

"In that case I suggest you continue to have hope, and that we revisit this discussion when you're feeling better." She leaned over and kissed him very gently. "But right now you need to sleep."

"Okay." Spencer smiled and drifted off again.


	60. Chapter 60

**Chapter 60**

**Providence Medical center**

**Medford, OR**

**Spencer**

"I did not say that!" Spencer was mortified. Here he had been planning this perfect romantic seduction and in his drugged state he'd blurted out the entire plan.

"Yes, you did." Morgan told him as he helped himself to one of a number of jell-o cups on the tray. "She didn't run screaming though; I don't think you threw her off too badly. Where is she anyway?"

"The hospital Chaplain asked her to say mass in the chapel. She said if she doesn't get behind an altar every 48 hours she gets a little twitchy. Unquote." Spencer eyed the selection of jell-o before going for a dark red one. It appeared that the staff took his request for more jell-o as a chance to add some weight to his frame.

"So what happens now?" Morgan asked. "Because you look like you're doing all right, but then I'm not a doctor."

"I'm fine as long as I don't get up. The non-narcotic pain meds tend to affect my balance; I learned that after I got shot. Hopefully by tomorrow I can switch to something topical and Tylenol, then I'll be able to fly. I'm officially going to be transferred to Georgetown, but I'm probably going to be seen in their outpatient clinic."

"How long are you off work?"

"Three to four weeks. After that I ought to be on desk duty for a week or two."

"Which means you'll be back in two." Morgan grinned at him.

"Actually not this time, I've, uh, been thinking about a project at the Rectory. I might need some help with it."

"The Rectory? Is that where you're staying?'

Spencer nodded, and then winced as he regretted it. So long as he didn't move the burned skin he was fine, but if he did it was bad, still. "Yes. Elizabeth is going to move into one of the upstairs bedrooms, and I'm going to take the one off the kitchen."

"You know she's a Minister, and you two aren't married yet. Aren't people going to talk?"

"It's a fairly liberal group of people, and we're emphasizing the separate bedrooms and being honest about it. She thinks it will be okay. If we were trying to hide it people would assume we had something to hide."

Morgan poked at his jell-o a bit, clearly not entirely comfortable with the next question. "How are you holding up otherwise? They said you freaked out on them in the ER"

"I was already kind of out of it by the time we got there. I really don't remember all that much." Spencer considered how best to explain that while he finished off that jell-o cup. "One of the major concerns with burn patients is dehydration, probably more so in my case because there was such a long interval between when the burn happened and when I got to the ER. And the only way to really know if someone is hydrated enough…" He watched Morgan wince and knew the other man had figured it out. The only way to know was to accurately measure output.

"Tell me they already…" Morgan asked, still wincing. "Are you okay?"

Spencer nodded; he'd had that catheter taken out earlier. It probably still hurt although he was medicated enough not to feel it. But if what happened after he was shot was any indication he had an uncomfortable few days ahead. He just had to keep having hope that it was going to be better. "It's better than when I was shot, but it's different this time."

"How so?"

"Elizabeth, every time a nurse comes in she's right there. She never does more than turn her back. The only reason why she went to say mass was because they promised to leave me alone over lunch. I don't know, to me they seem irritated with her, but that doesn't seem to be stopping her at all. I've always gone through this kind of thing alone before." Not that he wasn't still scared; but it was easier having someone there, someone on his side.

Morgan opened his mouth to say something, then poked his jell-o and thought again. "That's right, you got shot on the same day Foyette attacked Hotch. We did kind of leave you alone in there. I'm sorry about that, man."

Spencer shrugged. "It was understandable. My injury wasn't life threatening and my Unsub was already caught. And besides, you didn't know."

"Yeah, well if we had, one of us would have been down there with you, even if the rest of us stuck with Hotch."

"I know."

So what are we working on at the Rectory?" Morgan asked, clearly wanting to change the subject.

"Fixing up the master bed and bath," Spencer told him. "I don't think anyone has even gone in there in three years or more."

Morgan started chuckling. "I thought you two weren't doing anything worth hiding."

Spencer just picked up another jell-o.

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

Spencer slept the entire flight home. He didn't even have to call dibs on the couch; they just assumed he wanted it. He'd ended up with his legs draped over the end, and using Elizabeth's lap as a pillow, which suited him just fine. He'd started in on one of his headaches in the bustle to get out of the hospital, and by the time he got on the plane it was cranking down behind his eyes hard and even his stomach was starting to twist. Being able to sleep that close to Elizabeth seemed to help, at least a little. He'd been half awakened a few times, once when she was having some kind of serious conversation with Ashley. Elizabeth had been more than willing to help, to lean on her work at Georgetown, and Ashley seemed to be coping all right so far. Spencer had already got her to make an appointment with Dr. Messer for this week, and he made her promise to come over one night a week for help with some of her class work. He was not going to let her fail out of the Academy due to this, not at all.

No, what concerned him more was the more animated and lengthy conversation she had with Garcia, and that she seemed to have taken up Garcia's favorite hobby. That could be dangerous. He had to smile a little at the thought of the two women together in the hospital lobby. Garcia could only be compared to a parrot or a peacock, sitting there next to his blackbird.

His, he liked that.

They got in fairly early, which worked out well. Thelma was waiting, with a number of casseroles, most of which went into the freezer, and with one of the smaller upstairs bedrooms already cleaned and ready to be moved into. In what seemed to him like no time at all Elizabeth had cleaned out the small bedroom off the kitchen and made the bed with clean sheets, so all he would have to do was go back to his place and pack.

That first night he concentrated on staying out of the way, not wanting to be bumped or jarred because his burns still hurt, nearly as much as his head. He sat on the far side of the table and watched as Thelma and Elizabeth moved her stuff up stairs, while they deputized Morgan to supervise the heating of a tray of what looked to be baked ziti. After a pleasant supper Morgan and Thelma went home fairly quickly. They could probably see me drooping, he thought, I am officially exhausted, but that's to be expected, isn't it?

"You should go to bed." Elizabeth said as she stacked the sink. "You're working harder than you think, you know, trying to heal all that."

"Yeah I should." Spencer said. For some reason he had been feeling increasingly wooden and numb all day, ever since they left the hospital, ever since he started his headache. Now all of a sudden he felt a fluttering feeling in his chest and all of a sudden his eyes felt swollen and hot and the pain was just blinding. He didn't know what was causing it; he didn't know what was going on. He reached up to rub his eyes and found that his cheeks were wet.

"Spencer?" Elizabeth asked from over by the sink. Then she was there, right there, sitting on the bench right next to him and pulling him into her arms. She didn't tell him to shush, didn't tell him everything was all right, she just held him, let him rest his head on her shoulder and yes, he admitted it, he was crying there.

"I thought… I thought I lost my chance." He managed to get out, finally. Right before he looked over and saw that beautiful dog he'd been certain that he had lost everything, that he was going to have to watch the Unsub cripple Ashley, and then it was going to be his turn and he was going to have his pants pulled down and…and…. He held her even tighter, not even wanting to consider that. "I thought I was never going to come home."

"You're home now, love. You're home." She murmured to him gently, holding him, even rocking a little.

Eventually the storm passed. "'I'm sorry." He said, sniffling a little. "I didn't mean to do that."

"It's all right." She said, giving him a napkin to mop his face, "As Harry always said, better out than in."

"Wise man," Spencer said, drying his face and resting his head on her shoulder a moment more. "I just realized I've been more or less terrified for the past, what, four days now. I've had to suppress that to think clearly and this is the first chance I've had to…" No, wait…

"To let it out of your system?" Elizabeth finished for him.

"Yeah, but I think this might have been the first chance since Mom got sick. I'm not sure." His headache was gone, he realized, and his stomach had settled. All he felt was a peaceful sort of tired now. "I think if I don't go to bed I might just sleep like this for the night."

"And Tiberius will lick the dishes then return the leftovers to the library carpet." She predicted.

"It's not fair though." He pointed out. "I'm leaning all over you. And I'm not referring to literally."

"I have no doubt it will be my turn someday, and I know you will be there for me." She said. Then she tipped her head to plant a kiss on his crown. "Go to bed. I'll make you whatever you want in the morning."

"Wait." Before he moved he reached up, threaded his fingers through her hair and gave her a real kiss good night. "I love you."

"I love you too. Now go to bed."

He could see why she liked the maid's room. It was small and cozy and warm enough, with a bit of a glow coming from a lamp left on in the library to chase away the dark, and the sense of the vines that nearly covered the window right above the bed. The bed was soft and covered in quilts. It was all rather perfect. He was Home.

Next thing he knew he was sleeping soundly until morning.

* * *

.

* * *

**Note**: I'm sorry this update was so long in coming. I had to help a number of friends and family, including Rio's son and grandson, pack up and head for Japan. Please wish them and everyone there and everyone going to help all the best.


	61. Chapter 61

**Chapter 61**

**Spencer Reid's apartment**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

He waited on actually moving in until Morgan's next day off, a week and a half later. This gave him a chance to heal some, to meet with the doctors at the burn clinic and get a treatment plan, to arrange for a nurse to come by twice a day to help change his bandages so as not to add extra work to Elizabeth's packed schedule, to meet with Dr. Messer a few times and to hit one of the NA meetings over at the Baptist's hall. But finally he screwed up his courage, got Will to agree to leave Henry with Thelma, and they headed over to get it done.

"Yep." Will said when he looked around the place. "It's nerd heaven."

"Thank you." Spencer knew he wasn't going to get out of this without at least some teasing. He just hoped it wouldn't be too bad. He tucked the mail he'd pulled out of his box into his satchel for safekeeping, or rather was going to, until he spotted one envelope.

Morgan picked up a small skeleton and looked at him curiously. "Just give me that and pass the wrapping paper." Spencer said.

"What are you gonna do with the furniture?" Will asked as they started setting up boxes. He held up a wooden object that wasn't exactly round, but… "What is this?"

"Send it back to the thrift store and leave whatever they don't want on the curb." Spencer told him. "In this neighborhood someone will use it. Ow! Owowowow…" Okay, even empty cardboard box landing on bandaged arm was bad. "It's a geometric model of the…never mind, it goes in a future office box."

"Okay, you just sit and wrap and tell us what goes where." Morgan said, parking him in his desk chair. "Whatever you don't want I'm hauling off to the church, we have families that can use it. Future office?"

"When we finally move upstairs together we're turning the bedroom off the kitchen into an office. That way if I have a case file up I can just close the doors and no one has to see it." Spencer sat and was grateful for it. Later tonight he would be buying dinner for both of them, as well as JJ, Henry and Thelma, in deep gratitude for the help. I'm moving home, he realized, I'm finally going home and it feels wonderful. "Okay Houdini does not go in storage." He said, "Neither do the books."

"You have room for all of these?' Morgan asked.

"We're going to weed out the copies. It's something to do for the next few weeks." Spencer slit open the envelope that had caught his attention and looked at the sheet of paper inside. Something he had never realized was tight inside him began to very slowly unfurl.

Morgan must have noticed the look on his face. "What is that?" He asked.

"Um, this group of researchers at Simon Fraser University have been working on a genetic test for Schizophrenia. It's still in the research stage of course, but it looks very promising."

"Going to try it?" Morgan asked.

"I already did." Spencer told him. "I sent off a sample a while ago."

"And?"

"Clear negative." Spencer was still going over the results. Yes, he was autistic, he really wasn't surprised. But at his age it wasn't going to get any worse. In fact it had probably been improving slightly over the past ten years, more or less. And being one meant he simply could not be the other. That whatever it was kept unfurling, slowly.

Morgan grinned. "Well, there you go then. One less thing to worry about."

Will looked over. "So if it's a clear negative, does that mean you can't pass it on?"

"Yes, it does." He had a better than average chance of passing on autistic traits, but then there was Sammy… "Why?"

"Just wondering." He picked up a stack of boxes and headed down to his truck, whistling a perfect rendition of Dixie.

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

The Master Bedroom and bath were about as bad as Spencer had feared. There was a glory of a hundred year old bed, but it was smaller than he expected. There was an old-fashioned footed tub in the bath that would hold four people if they got cozy, it was more than big enough for two. But otherwise…

"Ok, so you need someone to have a look at that chimney." Morgan said to him as Spencer took notes. "You need a plumber to go over that bathroom. I know a crew that does clean-outs on apartments; you're not going to be able to scrub this place with those bandages on. What is that?"

Tiberius had followed them in, curious about the land behind the closed door. He was sniffing avidly at the mattress, which was rustling in a disconcerting manner. "I don't know." Spencer said, and went to carefully lift the quilt out of the way so he could see….

Something small and brown darted out, right past Tiberius. The cat chased it off toward the wall as it started a loud, high-pitched shrieking. Tiberius cornered it and tried to snap but the thing shot off along the baseboards, running right along the edge until Spencer put his clipboard down right in front of it and stopped it.

"What the hell is that?" Morgan said. Well, more accurately Morgan yelled.

"It's a field mouse." Spencer said, showing him the terrified creature no larger than his thumb. He watched as Morgan pulled back. "Oh don't tell me you're afraid of a mouse."

"How does she have mice?" Morgan asked, having gone a little pale around the edges. He edged back away from the bed. "She has a cat."

"He doesn't have any teeth." Spencer told him as Tiberius went back to sniffing around the bed. "I'm going to go set it free."

"You do and it's just going to come back."

"I'll take it across the street to the back of the zoo; it won't come back from there. "Just put a new mattress set and bed stuff on my list for me. And see if there's a way to turn that bed into a king size, if not I'm going to have to get a new one."

"You can afford that?" Morgan asked.

"Given that I'm probably not going to need to pay for an asylum for myself, yeah, I think so."

**Private Office of Dr. Judith Messer**

**Washington DC**

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?" Dr. Messer asked him.

Spencer held his coffee cup in front of him. Defensively, he realized, his entire body language was defending his decision, or perhaps protecting himself from it. "No. Honestly not. But I think my fear of taking the risk in going out again is overweighing my fear of what might happen."

"Do you think that's a healthy reason for doing this?"

Spencer considered it a moment. "I think you're about to say no, it's not."

"I'm concerned that in the moment, those fears might swap places. That might ruin the experiment. And while I'm certain you would be willing to try again it might take a while to work up to that point."

"I don't see the problem in that."

Dr. Messer sighed. "Given your most recent traumatic experience it's understandable that you've been thinking strictly from your own point-of-view. But given this plan, I have to ask, have you considered what Elizabeth's feelings might be in all of this?"

"Um, she said she wanted to. She made it quite clear that she would be ready when I was." And I told you that, Spencer thought, so why are you going back there?

"You said she would be ready to start, you didn't say anything about being willing to wait after." Dr. Messer checked her notes. "You told me that according to her one of the reasons why she never took a lover in college was because she saw how miserable the other young women were when they lost lovers. I've noticed that in my practice as well, it's not a universal trait, not at all, but it does happen to many young women."

"Understandable, but I'm not going anywhere. I'll still be there with her."

Dr. Messer shook her head. "It's not psychological, it's physiological. Many of the hormones and brain chemicals produced are there to create bonding between two partners, more so in the female. The only time higher levels of these chemicals are produced is during childbirth and subsequent nursing. I'd be curious to know if she felt that kind of sensitivity within herself."

Spencer sighed. "And if she did she wouldn't want to risk that kind of bonding without some sort of commitment, which would be why she subsequently decided to wait until marriage." And if I couldn't do it again I'd be making her miserable, he thought.

Dr. Messer nodded. "And that would put pressure on you to do something about it before you were ready, thereby setting up a negative cycle. Now I'm not saying that's the case, but it's something to consider." She sat back and looked at him. "As near as I can tell you have three options. The first is, of course, to go through with your current plan. The second is to sit down and discuss it in a neutral setting first."

"And what's the third?" Spencer asked her. She was right, of course, but it was disappointing. Not, he realized, because he wasn't, but because that meant it wasn't over. That's not a good sign, he thought.

"Go with your gut."

"I beg your pardon?"

"When the time is right, you'll know. Simple as that. So be patient."

"Um, the phrase "going with your gut" implies a certain spontaneity. That would seem to be the opposite of patience."

"Be patient and wait for your gut to catch up to your head." Dr. Messer said.

**Burn Center**

**Georgetown University Hospital**

**Washington DC.**

"Well, it all looks good." The doctor said as he looked over the fading remnants of the burns Spencer had endured. "It all healed cleanly, it doesn't seem to be hampering mobility in any way. The new tissue on your neck will fade eventually. Just be sure to keep sunscreen on it, regardless of the weather."

"I'm assuming it will finish scarring over." For right now the new skin was still bright, cherry red, broken into smears where the Unsub had spread the paste. But the edges were already fading toward pink. If his knee was any indication in another year the skin there would be more of a silvery white, hard to notice against his usual pallor unless you were looking for it. But it wasn't the color that bothered him, it was that the new tissue had no new nerve endings and was numb, dead to the touch.

"It will, but we'll keep treating it. It looks like the scarring will be very fine and hard to notice unless you were looking for it. The one on your arm will be worse, it looks to be healing into a raised scar, but if it hampers your mobility we can treat that moving forward." He made some notes on a chart. "Keep your arm bandaged for another week and you can return to desk duty."

"Thank you."

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

It was Wednesday. It was also the last day of his medical leave, which meant that if he was going to go through with his original plan, it had to happen today. Spencer stood in the kitchen, finishing his turn at the dishes, while Elizabeth finished her coffee at the table and paged through a recipe book, of all things. "So, got anything planned for today?" She asked.

"Um, kind of." He rinsed the sink and dried his hands. "Come upstairs with me?"

"Oh, you mean I finally get to see your project?" She said, padding along after him, her skirt swishing around her bare ankles.

He turned at the bottom of the stairs to look at her. "You know?" Oh come on, he thought, that really isn't fair.

She smiled at him. "I haven't peeked behind any other doors up here. But Thelma told me she saw a chimney sweep up on the roof and wondered why I hadn't put in the paperwork to pay for it."

'That's because it's my gift." He led her upstairs and opened the door to the master bedroom. It had been transformed into what he thought a romantic country in ought to look like, or a romantic Victorian inn, or something. A big cloud soft mattress in a four poster bed, complete with canopy, a working fireplace, the mantle polished, the bath clean and stocked with the kinds of things he knew she liked. He'd indulged himself with a few prints of Knights and ladies on the wall, and a small bookshelf stocked with things like Tristam, Proust, Donne. He turned and settled on the edge of the bed and watched her explore a while. "What do you think?"

"It's beautiful. It's…perfect. I love it." She walked over and stood quite close. "What I don't understand is, why now?"

He took her hand and pulled her in closer. "When everything happened out in Oregon I was so afraid that I had lost my chance to try…. I was going to ask you to teach me everything. Before I went back, so I wouldn't have to face that again." He took a deep breath and admitted it, finally, out loud. "But the truth is, I'm still afraid, and that might make it a one-time thing, at least for a while, and that wouldn't be fair for you."

She reached up and brushed that curl from his temple. "I would be hard." She admitted. "But I'd do it if you needed to."

He knew what that meant, he realized. In the end he had loved Tobias, and he had to kill him, and the loss of that nearly did him in. That might have been one of the reasons why he turned to the Dilaudid, he thought, he never wanted to do anything like that to her, to make her ache like that. But she knew and understood and was offering anyway. He pulled her into his arms. "Thank you." He murmured. "Thank you for offering that. But I will take that risk."

They stood like that for a long time. And eventually went downstairs together to start readying the garden for spring.

**BAU headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

"So how did she like the work?" Morgan asked him the next day, his first day back.

Spencer felt a little jumpy. It's just because it's my first day after being gone a while, he thought. It has nothing to do with the fact that except for Dr. Messer's I've been on holy ground for the past four weeks. It has nothing to do with feeling like I'm going back into battle, that I'm deliberately walking under the enemy's nose here. "She loved it." Spencer said, making a cup of tea, feeling a slight headache already starting and not wanting to annoy it with coffee. "She said it was perfect."

"And?" Morgan grinned at him, clearly expecting some kind of an indication that the room had been used as intended.

Just then Garcia walked up to them. "Come on boys, we've got a case. There were these weird house fires last night."


	62. Spoiler warning

**Spoiler warning: **Chapter 45 of this story is partially set during _Criminal Minds_ episode #6:16 "Coda".

Chapters 46-61 cover non-cannon cases and were set during the time in between #6:16 and #6:17 "Valhalla".

Chapter 61 ends the morning that "Valhalla" begins, with the opening of that case.

Chapter 62 opens in the last five minutes of #6:18 "Lauren" and assumes everything in that episode.

Be warned, there are spoilers. Huge, elephant sized spoilers from the very first line.

If you have not seen "Valhalla" or "Lauren" stop reading now. Trust me.

* * *

Okay, I warned you.


	63. Chapter 62

**Chapter 62**

**Boston Medical Center**

**Boston, MA**

**Spencer**

She was gone.

First Riley, his best friend, then his Dad, then his Mom more or less, then Ethan, Elle, Tobias, Jason, Ethan again, JJ more or less, and now Emily. Gone.

He never got to say good-by.

He was crying, sobbing really. There was no reason to hide it. Morgan was crying too, was holding up Garcia who looked like she would never stop. Seaver was sobbing into Rossi's shirt. Rossi was dry-eyed but he looked devastated. Even Hotch and JJ looked like they were about to cry.

She was gone, and he never got to stay good-by.

After a time Hotch came back in, looking at them all with his eyes full. "They didn't get Doyle. His body wasn't among those found at the scene."

"You mean that sonofabitch is still out there?" Rossi asked.

Hotch nodded. "I think it's probably over. He had his revenge. Do you all concur?"

The all considered, all nodded. Why would Doyle continue, why not run? Emily was, after all, gone.

"What about his son?" Garcia asked. "If Emily didn't give up his location, is he going to come after us looking for it?"

Hotch nodded. "It's a possibility. To that end the Bureau…Strauss…has ordered me to work with the Marhalls service, to prepare a plan to move us all into Witness Protection in case he does come after us.

Spencer just stared at Hotch.

No.

_No_.

"It's not immediate. At the moment there's no threat. We're going to perform a threat assessment tomorrow. I'm meeting with the Marshalls Monday morning to finalize the contingency plans."

_No_.

They got up to head for the airport. Morgan helped Garcia, Rossi had Seaver. Spencer trailed along behind, and was stopped by JJ. "Spence."

He knew what she was asking, are you okay? Are you going to be okay? Are you going to go stick a needle in your arm and make the pain go away? He hugged her tight and let the tears seep into her sweater a moment longer. I'm sorry JJ, he thought, I'm going to disappoint you, but it's a small disappointment in the greater scheme of things, and I hope you will understand someday.

Then he followed the others.

**St. Martin's Episcopal Church**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Elizabeth**

As part of her final duties on Saturday night Elizabeth always stepped to the chapel. She took the time in the quiet gloaming to bless the hosts for the next day. She was at the altar, ready to begin the rite, contemplative, quiet, only part of this world really, when she realized Spencer had come into the church.

She hadn't seen or heard from him since he went back to work Thursday, but that was not that unusual at all. What was unusual was for him to be here, in the church, where he rarely came. And the way he looked, shaking, holding himself, he'd been crying… She left the altar and went to his side, easing him into the front pew.

"She's gone." He said.

It took some doing but eventually she got the whole story out of him. Emily. Doyle. That she gave her life to protect a child, to protect her family. "I never even got to say good-by." Spencer said, as he broke down in tears again.

She held him gently, rocked him. Not fair, she thought, not fair. It's war against Old Scratch, but why must someone so gentle be on the front lines every time.

"The problem is," He said, lifting his head from her shoulders, "that Doyle is still out there."

"Do you think he'll come after the rest of you?"

That was when he told her the rest. "I can't ask. It's not right and it's not fair and I know it, but I…"

She laid a finger across his lips to shush him, then stood and moved to the altar, this time facing the cross. There, in the silence broken only by her weeping love, she asked again. Dear Lord, is this why? Is this why You blessed me so? Is this my answer? I would have to leave everyone, Thelma and Harry and the people here. But it's war and he's a soldier and I love him and is this why?

In her heart, she knew. She knew.

She turned to him, feeling the tears fill her eyes. She'd never held any illusions about what happened now, so she had no reason to be disappointed. "When is the next flight?"

She watched him sag in relief. "Two hours."

"Then I have enough time to finish this and pack."

**Garcia's apartment**

**Washington DC**

**Morgan**

It was no use. He couldn't get his baby girl cheered up. Not over this one. Not this time.

The best he could do was get her into bed. She'd turned down every other offer, from a sleeping pill to getting Kevin over here to 'cheer her up". Anything to make the pain stop. "No, I can't." She said. "It wouldn't be right. Emily deserves the full measure."

But now she was in bed, and he knew Rossi had Seaver, and Rossi was a crusty old bird who would endure, and Hotch had Jack and Jessica and…oh crap, Reid. He pulled out his phone and called his little brother. "Hey, man, I just got Garcia down. Where are you?"

"The airport."

Now that reply was not on his list of top ten places to find Reid. "What the hell are you doing there?"

"Um, going to see my Mom."

Morgan sighed, deeply. "Kid, I have had enough friends lie to me in the past two days. Please do not start."

"I'm not…I am going to Vegas and Elizabeth is with me, and I am going to try to see Mom while I'm out there."

Now the kid sounded defensive. And all of a sudden Morgan knew why. "Let me talk to her." He insisted.

There was the sound of a phone being passed. "I know what you're about to ask me." Reverend Bess said in her soft, southern drawl, "He told me everything. I know what I might have to do."

"And you're okay with this?"

He heard the sound of her getting up and moving away. "I know you go to church Derek." She said, "You can't tell me this isn't war, not now."

All Morgan could do was sigh. She was right, and he knew it. He knew.

After a moment she went on. "Any seminarian could do what I do. But what you people do… Keeping him strong is far more important than anything I could do on my own. I don't see it as anything more than a continuation of what I vowed my life to do. And besides," she managed a soft laugh, "I happen to love him like crazy."

After a moment Morgan shook his head. "Thank you. Hell, I don't know, maybe even your country says thank you. I know you're giving up a lot even just by doing it like this."

"Not really." She said lightly, "I never had those illusions." He heard a loudspeaker behind them. "I think that's our flight."

After a moment Morgan heard Spencer come back on the line. "We have to go. Tell Garcia I'm sorry, I know she's going to be disappointed, but we'll do something when we get back." He paused for a moment. "It wouldn't have been right to do a big thing, not anymore. And tell Hotch I'm sorry."

No, it wouldn't be right to celebrate, even though that's worth celebrating. Not with our sister gone. "For what?" Morgan asked.

"The extra paperwork." Spencer said.

"Kid, I'll do it for him myself." Morgan "Just go and get home safe. And kid,"

"Yeah"

"Congratulations."

**Las Vegas Marriage Bureau**

**Las Vegas, NV**

**Spencer**

It was 11 pm when they arrived at the building on Clark St. Eleven PM translated to 2am East Coast time, and they were both so tired. Spencer had slept on the plane, which made up for the past two days, but not nearly enough. Still, they went straight from the airport. Got to beat the Devil, Spencer thought with some giddy, mournful, tired part of his brain, can't let him win.

Sixty dollars, cash, Photo ID from both, Social Security cards shown, fill out this form, is the judge available? Thirty minutes. That gave Elizabeth time to scrawl a few notes. "What's that?' He asked.

She showed him.

He kissed her for it.

When they stood in front of the judge he asked them if they would love and honor, cherish and keep, in sickness and health, forsake all others. But at their request he left out any words about parting at death. They weren't even going to give the Devil that due. Not ever.

In the end they walked out of the courthouse, the all important paper safely in his pocket. "We forgot the rings." He pointed out. He could have kicked himself for that part. He should have at least given her that.

"We can buy them in the morning." She told him. "We beat the Devil, now we have time."


	64. Chapter 63

**Chapter 63**

**Garcia's apartment**

**Washington DC**

**Morgan**

"Why? Why is he doing this? I mean why is he doing this now, tonight?" Garcia asked through her tears on Saturday night. Early this morning they had been in Boston hospital and now this?

"Because the Marshalls' service won't let you bring your girlfriend along into Witness Protection." Morgan told her. "I don't think Reid could handle another loss right now. Hell, I'm having trouble handling it, and I haven't had as many losses as he has."

"But we've all lost people." Garcia reminded him. "And we all stand to lose each other. You'd be losing your mom and your sisters, right?"

"Baby girl, if it comes down to it, I'm not going." He told her, and then shushed her when she protested. "Rossi and I are staying behind to cover your backs. He and I talked it over on the plane, we can handle it. But Hotch has to go for Jack's sake, and Seaver is young enough to start over, JJ has Will and Henry to protect, and you Miss Princess will never be truly away from anyone so long as you have access to the net. I know that. But Reid isn't as computer friendly as you are and he is not that kind of strong and he kind of stands out. When he has to go he has to _go_, and that means giving up everyone."

"Except his family," Garcia sniffed. "And we're his family."

"We are, but we don't have the paperwork on him. Now Reverend Bess does. If we do have to split up then he won't go alone."

Garcia started crying again. "It would kind of be like abandoning a puppy." She sniffed, "If he had to go alone."

"Exactly."

"But, I mean, it's not fair. They deserved a big wedding and all of us there and the white dress and the whole bit."

"No, it's not fair." Morgan pulled his baby girl back into his arms. "But I think they understand."

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

**Hotch**

"Of all the stupid, asinine, childish crap to pull!" Rossi thundered Sunday morning, "What the hell was he thinking? He's acting like some dumb twenty year old running on nothing but hormones!"

Aaron looked down at the form sitting in the middle of his desk. It had been faxed over late last night, had been found when they came in this morning. It wasn't a certified copy, but he had no doubt that one would be provided.

_Bride's name – Baxter, Elizabeth, Rev. Dr. _

"He is a twenty-year old." Morgan countered. "He's only a year older than Seaver and you've been holding her hand throughout this entire case! He's lost more people in his time than most people lose their entire life, so why don't you cut him some slack for not wanting to lose everyone he ever cared for!"

For a moment Aaron swore it was his name and Haley's on the form.

_Groom's name – Reid, Spencer, Dr._

Not childish, Aaron thought, this goes deeper than that. How could we not have seen this? We have missed so much of each other. I have missed so much.

"He still might. We profiled Doyle as a family annihilator. Now Reid has a family to annihilate," Rossi reminded him

"We profiled Doyle as destroying families for revenge. He's had his revenge." Morgan countered.

"And if he found out his son is still alive he'd come after our families to get us to reveal his location." Rossi countered back. "Now she's at risk."

"She was at risk anyway. Now if we have to go into protection she goes too." Morgan returned fire.

"Gentlemen," Hotch said, quietly. "This argument is pointless. What's done is done." Now he had to move on with this, like it or not. There was no reason to become emotional, at all.

Morgan nodded, "Thank you." He said, much calmer.

"What are you thinking?" Rossi asked him. "You know this is a risk."

"I do. But I also know Haley wouldn't have taken that for me. She didn't even take it for Jack; they had to move her twice for contacting her mother. And would any of your ex-wives have taken this risk for you?"

Rossi didn't even have to think. "No." He said.

"Then when he comes in on Monday I plan to congratulate him and I'll make the plans to send both of them together if the need arises." Hotch nodded. "Now if you two will excuse me, I need to make a few calls."

**Office of Harold Wickham, D. D.**

**National Cathedral**

**Washington DC.**

**Harry**

It was just luck that Harry had stepped into his office between Sunday services and was able to take that call. Now he couldn't help it, he dissolved in laughter. "Damn that child. Not only do I now have to explain this to Thelma and Tomas, she promised me that I would be saying the service. Well, I'm going to be saying a blessing over the entire mess when they return, I can promise you that." He really should not be surprised, he thought, Bess had never done anything in the regular way, why on earth should she start now?

He listened to his phone again. "Yes, Agent Hotchner, anything I can do to help." He listened. "The strictest confidence, of course." He listened a moment longer. "Why don't I come to your office, we ought to discuss this in person and in private." A moment more. "Yes, I am glad to be of help."

Harry hung up and began to gather the things he would need to plan a funeral.

**Bethesda Naval Medical Center**

**Secure wing**

**Bethesda, MD**

**JJ**

JJ hung up her phone Sunday and stepped into the room. Her eyes were growing damp with the results of what she had heard. She moved to the window and looked out toward the sky and the west. I do love you, she thought, and I hope you're happy and I am so dammed glad you are not alone. She heard a faint sound behind her, turned and smiled when she saw that the figure in it was awake, if only barely. "Hey."

"Hey." The figure said back

"That was Hotch on the phone." JJ told her. "You're not going to believe what happened."

"What happened?" The figure murmured

"Spence eloped."

Even though it must have hurt more than anything, the figure on the bed started laughing.

**Travelodge**

**Las Vegas, NV**

**Spencer**

Saturday night Spencer sat on the end of the generic, familiar bed in the generic, familiar room. "You know, given the way everything is going this should not be surprising." Spencer called out in the direction of the bathroom.

"What should not be surprising?" Elizabeth called back.

"That the only room I could get for tonight in all of Las Vegas is a room at the Travelodge." Out of habit he put the phone book on the nightstand under the clock, where he could read the name of the city as soon as he woke up. Then he flopped back on the bed. He hadn't even bothered to grab his go bag, not on the way to Boston and not on the way here. She had a small kit, but he was going to sleep in his t-shirt and boxers tonight, use the house toiletries, not even bother to shave. "I had this whole romantic encounter planned and we're in a Travelodge."

"Well, it's only for a few hours. And we'll be asleep for most of them." She came out in an old Harvard crimson t-shirt and her underpants; her hair braided into pigtails, and flopped on the bed next to him, crawling under the covers. "Should I leave the light on in the bathroom?"

"No, it's never dark in Vegas." There was enough light seeping in around the curtains to keep it from being fully dark. He rolled over to look at her. In the witchlight of neon and vice he reached out and gently traced her cheekbone. It had a slight bump where it had healed, was thereby not perfect, was utterly, impossibly beautiful.

"This doesn't change anything." She said, almost whispered. "I'm still willing to wait."

"I know." He whispered. Not yet, he knew, not yet. But his fingers were tangling in her hair and he was dragging her up and in and kissing her as long and hard and deep as he ever dared. Her legs tangled with his and her hands crept up and under his shirt, the muscles in his stomach twitching at the touch. Not yet, he thought as he ran his hands over the fine web of scars on her back, noticing this time the warm, supple skin underneath, not yet. It's not right, not tonight, not yet. It's too dark. He broke the kiss, finally, but did not, could not, pull away. "We should sleep." He whispered into her hair. She moaned, just a little, but tucked her head under his chin and did not disagree.

They stayed like that until the dawn woke them.


	65. Chapter 64

**Chapter 64**

**Travelodge**

**Las Vegas, NV**

**Spencer**

"Did you call your Mother's hospital?" Elizabeth asked as she came out of the bathroom. "What did they say?"

Spencer watched her, rosy and shining, fresh from the shower in the morning light. Not a blackbird today, he thought, but a dove in that soft, pale dress. "She's not all that lucid right now; she's going through a bad spell. Not abnormally bad, but they're adjusting her medication. It's probably not a good time to visit."

"Oh, that's too bad. I wanted to meet her." He watched her fold her ecclesiastical shirt away, carefully lay the collar tab so it wouldn't bend. "I kinda hope she likes me."

"Don't worry, she'll love you." Assuming she remembers you, he thought. "We'll come back." He watched her pack up the last of her things. "We have, like, six hours before our flight; we should probably get wedding rings. What else do you want to do?" But he knew what she would say. He knew it last night when he rented something with 4-wheel drive.

"Show me the desert."

**Mojave Desert**

**Nevada**

He took her north, into the High Desert, operating strictly on impulse, instinct. There was a place he used to go, back when he was in college, when he started driving, when he came out to check on his Mom and just needed to get to where it was quiet, where he could sit and not think. He drove down the freeway to the highway to a one lane road to a dirt track, finally, then up a small rise and to a place where the boulders looked out over the landscape, and the land ran like water toward the mountains. The earth was warm and the hot desert breeze was redolent with sage and creosote and the sky was the perfect copper blue. There was a place under the boulders where it was always cool and yet there was no place to hide.

He parked and it was quiet, then silent, not a sound but the wind across the desert. She turned to look at him; her eyes wide, then she slipped from the car and slowly walked over to a boulder. He watched her place her hand on it, trail her fingers as she walked around and disappeared. He gathered water and a blanket someone had left in the Jeep and followed. When he reached the lee side he found her standing there, looking out at the land, at the mountains on the horizon. "What is it?"

"I dreamed of this place." She told him simply.

"So did I." He said. He shook out the blanket; put the water under the rocks to cool. "You were telling my fortune." It was the best way to explain it. "What were you doing?"

"Casting out the Devil," she turned and began working the buttons on his shirt, slowly, fiddly. "If you're afraid tell me to stop."

He wasn't afraid. As her fingers slipped down the opening she made, tracing lines of muscle and bone all he felt was desire, sudden and near painful as he swelled behind brass and denim. But he wasn't afraid this time, this time it was hot and good. He rested his hands on her waist and leaned his head down to watch her, to rest his forehead against hers when she spread the cloth and dragged her palms over his skin. "I'm not afraid." He told her.

She wrapped her hands around his waist, under his shirt, and swayed a moment. "I am." She admitted.

"Why?" She'd done this before, why be afraid? It wasn't like he was going to hurt her, he wouldn't dream of that. He tugged her down onto the blanket, and into his arms. Well, really, his lap for a long moment.

She nuzzled in to him a long moment, tucking her head under his chin, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat. He could tell she was gathering her courage or holding off her desire. Then she sat back and away, rolling up on her knees to face him. She was blushing, he realized as her eyes met his, but she was slowly reaching behind her and undoing that little sundress she wore. When she let it fall to her waist he realized she wasn't wearing anything underneath. His heartbeat tripled as he looked at her, all ivory pale in the shade of the rocks. A small cross on a delicate chain only made her appear all the barer. Dear God she was beautiful.

"Just don't get mad. Not right now." She asked. Or maybe begged, he couldn't quite tell.

But the reason was clear. Along the edge of each utterly perfect breast was a fringe of scars, paler and slightly raised off her skin. He tentatively reached out, and gently ran a finger over them, mentally cursing Thorne for all he was worth and more. "Not right now." He agreed. When she didn't pull away he decided to try, to cup his hand under her breast and let it rest in his palm. It was heavier than he expected, softer, warmer. The center was a soft, rosy pink, felt softer than silk when he brushed it lightly with his thumb. In response it furled into a firm little nub, and she arched into his hand with a low sound of pleasure.

"Come here." He said, tugging her down next to him on the blanket, there in the cool shade of the rocks. She reached up, threaded her fingers in his hair, and kissed him over and over. He let his hands wander over her torso, noting each spot that elicited a gasp or a murmur or even a shiver of pleasure. After a few minutes she leaned back a bit, and he thought she was going to bat his hands away. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Elizabeth said, with a murmur of pleasure. "Don't stop." But her hands were drifting down his torso. Down and further, over his stomach, making the muscles tighten from the unexpected sensation, over his belt and then over the bulge beneath it, just heavy enough that he could feel her hands through the fabric. "Are you afraid?" She asked.

Spencer considered this. Right at this moment he wasn't, not at all. He'd left his fear behind in a cave in Oregon, buried it with Emily. Tomorrow was promised to no one, not anymore, there was no more time to be afraid. He thought Emily would understand, maybe even approve, and certainly want to hear the story over coffee in the morning. Any moment now he knew he was going to feel her opening his pants, her hands on his skin. It's been a long time, he thought, I haven't even touched myself since Tobias….but he didn't want to think about that now, or that even with that thought he was rock hard. I want to know, he thought, I just want to know. "No, I'm not afraid."

Her hands dipped lower, almost pushing him over onto his back, and now she was touching him more firmly, pressing against his inner thighs, squeezing him through the heavy denim. "Are you sure?" she asked again. "Show me."

He held on tightly, rested his forehead against her collarbone, riding out the wave of sensation. When he could breathe again he started frantically working the buttons on his fly, pulling open the fabric, taking her hand and guiding it in and around his shaft, just like he used to. Then she was stroking him, gentle and sure, sliding her hand up to roll down his foreskin and brush her thumb over the top. He arched up into her hand, giving all he had not to climax on the spot.

Thankfully she eased off, her hand drifting lower, down to find and fondle his sac. "It's been too long." She murmured into his hair.

It took him three tries to swallow and gasp out. "How can you tell?"

"The skin's too tight." She replied, squeezing gently. "They're almost too full."

"It's been too long." He agreed, reaching down to stop her before this ended far too quickly. Instead he was rolling over toward her, sliding his hand up her thigh, over her hip. "Show me you. Please."

She smiled at him, pulled up her skirt, and guided his hand over her belly and under the scrap of cotton lace that seemed too small for much of anything. One of the most erotic things he'd ever seen, he realized, the sight of their hands sliding under there, fingers outlined in the fabric. She felt small somehow; a coarse bit of what might have been fur, and then fold upon fold of hot and damp. "Okay, these need to come off." Either her panties were too snug or his fingers were too long.

"Demanding," she chided lightly. But she was pushing that bit of cotton down over her thighs and tossing them away somewhere, and now he could see what he was doing down there. "Remember your anatomy classes?" She teased,

"I think so." Granted it was harder like this, exploring by feel, all fold upon fold, all warm and wet. He'd always wondered what that meant, now he knew it meant slick and damp and what felt swollen and ready. He followed what felt like it ought to meet at the top until it did, at this firm, small nub, then stroked just underneath it, which ought to be the most sensitive point. He was rewarded by her falling back, opening her thighs further, and lifting her hips to offer him more. "I think I remember." He said as he kept teasing that small point and pressed a kiss to her breast as she squirmed and made these little begging sounds.

When he thought she might be wet enough to ease the passage, as his anatomy book said, he started exploring lower, keeping his thumb over that spot as his fingers found the opening he was searching for. He found a fold that seemed to keep going, deeper and deeper, until he realized that yes, he was actually stroking inside her body. "You're really letting me do this." He murmured, astonished. It seemed like a too intimate thing for any woman to allow anyone to do. But not only was she allowing it, her body was clutching at him, almost sucking on his fingers, trying to draw him deeper into all that wet heat. He pressed in just a little more and found this lump, this firm spot deep inside. Cervix, he thought, from the Latin, the opening to the womb. He teased it gently and watched her go almost rigid, clutching the blanket beneath her, felt the water suddenly almost soaking his hand. She hadn't, he didn't think, but clearly it was good for her. He pulled back and out quickly so she wouldn't. Not yet. Not yet.

"Oh God, Spencer, please!" Elizabeth cried. Thankfully there was no one for miles to hear her; she was getting loud on him.

He took that as an invitation and rolled over on top of her, settling between her thighs. He took himself in hand and rubbed himself through the thick, wet heat that coated those folds. But the angle felt funny and all wrong. "How do I…?" He watched, felt, her snake a hand between them and open herself, pressing him down slightly, draping a leg over his ass for leverage. And then all he had to do was sink in…

It wasn't that she was so utterly hot, so perfectly soft and wet. It was the way her body seemed to tug at him, almost a vacuum that pulled and dragged and demanded that he give it what it wanted. He would have stayed still, savoring the sensation, but she had other ideas. She thrust her hips up, forcing him deeper, held herself open so that small nub rubbed on his pubic bone. Then again and again, the perfect soft friction, pulling and tugging and...and…

"Spencer." She called and he opened his eyes and found her looking at him, looking through him, her eyes wide and dark as she gasped. "Spencer, I'm…I'm…" Yes, he thought, let them see you. Let all the angels and devils see what we are.

Her body tightened around him and she clamped down on him like a vice until he swore he could feel her heartbeat through his cock. Then with a scream she let go and shook through her climax, shuddering under and around him until it was all too much. Every fiber of his being grew tight and he felt a wave of energy come down his spine and then with a shout his world exploded and he emptied into her.


	66. Chapter 65

**Chapter 65**

**Mojave Desert**

**Nevada**

**Spencer**

Drugged.

Well and truly drugged. Enough narcotics to get you through something medical drugged.

That was how he felt, he felt drugged. He felt that oh so familiar sweet heat in his veins, dragging him down toward the earth down into the soft body beneath him. His head swam with it as it took away all pain, all fear. It was rich and heady and made the world right again. He hung there between here and time and _savored_ it.

Then something rustled, quite close by.

He lifted his head and opened his eyes and watched the little lizard that scurried past, attached to the underside of the cool boulder, heading for the heat and the sun. That's right, he thought, we're outside. That particular feeling, that one amazing sensation out of a million amazing sensations is the breeze blowing on my bare backside. I should probably do something about that.

Instead he looked down at the beautiful woman lying under him, nearly nude, her dress bunched around her waist. He lowered himself to his elbows, framing her soft curls in his arms, and gently nuzzled her until she opened her eyes. "Hey." He said softly. "What are you thinking?"

"Hey," Elizabeth said in return as she gently stroked his lower back. "I think you did me in."

He pushed a curl off her temple with his thumb. "I had no idea." He admitted. This was how it was supposed to feel after, he thought. No pain, no fear, no death, no sense of being sick or wrong. Just this lazy warmth and peace and being a part of something bigger than the sky. "I think I found my next addiction." He admitted, leaning down to catch the rich scent of her, gardenias yes, but also sage now, and something spicy and deeper that tickled the edges of the mind and imprinted on memory. Sex, he realized, and love and passion. I'll never forget that scent now.

"Neither did I." She told him. "It wasn't like this before." She reached up and brushed the hair off his forehead and her eyes were so impossibly deep when they met his. "I think I can support this habit." She teased lightly.

Now that was kiss worthy. But to kiss her he had to shift and that made him realize that he was still half hard and still buried in her soft heat. She moaned and her body clutched at him until the kiss ended. "You're going to tell me that we don't have time to do that again before our flight, aren't you." She murmured.

He eased his weight down on to her, delighting in the sensation of skin against skin, the roundness of her breasts fitting against him, her soft sound of pleasure as he pressed her to the earth. Every part of him wanted to say that there was plenty of time, that they didn't need to go back to DC, that they could leave that world there, pretend that Emily was alive and Doyle was a nightmare and all the people they loved were safe and warm back there like they were safe and warm here. But that wouldn't be right or real, and he knew even if they pretended, it would never last, no matter how much they wished and dreamed. He looked at his watch, "Yes, I'm going to say that. I'm sorry. But we don't have to move just yet."

She shook her head. "Don't be sorry. We can come back here. And we have a bed back home, now."

Home, with her, with this, it felt better now, although nothing had changed there. Because here everything was so very different; "We do. And I won't have a rock digging into my knee." Which was going to be angry with him come morning, as was his arm, not that he minded. He slowly rolled over, attempted to gently extricate himself while pulling her with him only to hear her hiss in pain. "What's wrong?"

"It's been a while." She said, as she tried to free herself as well. "It's not like you can entirely start fresh, but you get close. I'm just sore is all. It's normal."

He gently smoothed down her skirt before leaning back to button up his pants. "Other than that how do you feel?" he asked, gathering her into his arms when he was all put away.

"Too good to move," she told him with what sounded like a purr, then, "Thirsty." She slowly shifted, moved, reached until she found the water. He watched the way her body moved as she did, feeling that heat shift. How much time did they have? "I feel like we're going to have to apologize when we get home." She said.

"Why?' He asked. He watched as some of her water spilled, and he reached up and gently, lightly wiped away the drop that clung to the curve of her perfect breast.

"Disrespectful of the dead," she said, offering him the rest of the bottle. "Going to get the paperwork is one thing, but this…"

He took the bottle and ended up spilling some himself. No point in being germaphobic, after what they had done. He felt coated in her, and not just in the obvious way. "I think Emily would understand, given the way she's been acting the past few days." He said. "She had been acting the past few days." He corrected. She wasn't acting anymore. "And it's not their business." This is personal, he thought, between us. I have a personal life now.

"They're profilers, like you." She said, reaching out to wipe the drops of water off his chest. "They're going to know."

"Let them." He said. He caught her hand, held it there and looked at the ring on her finger. It was the only matched set at the place they stopped this morning that fit them both, copper with a band of lapis, too over the top western to suit them back in DC. They'd decided to get new ones at the first opportunity back there. But they were the color of this earth and this sky and now they seemed rather perfect. "I don't want to get different rings." He told her.

After a moment she smiled and tugged her hand free. "Neither do I." He sighed as she started pulling up her dress.

"I think I understand now." He said as he watched her. "Well, sort of, I understand Haley and Hotch and I understand JJ and Will and I almost understand Emily and Doyle. But what I don't understand is why she slept with him in the first place. She had to have known what it would feel like, for both of them, to break this bonding." Please tell me you feel it too, he thought, please tell me.

"I guess that was the sacrifice she made for her country, at least until the end." She looked down at the last of the water. "I couldn't do that. I couldn't feel like this unless I knew it was love."

"You too huh?" He watched her nod, felt her reach over and start doing up the buttons on his shirt. "I also now understand why Morgan made such a big deal out of your accent." He said, hoping to lighten the mood if he could. "It gets stronger the closer you get to climax."

She met his eyes and gave him a smile that was all wicked. "I'm gonna have to remember that," she purred, exaggerating her drawl.

Now he was going to be hard for the trip home.

**Continental Airlines**

**Flight 6346**

**Las Vegas to DC**

**Elizabeth**

It hardly seemed real. At this time yesterday she had been walking into the chapel, intent on blessing the host for Sunday, then going home and having a roast beef sandwich and some tomato soup. Now Emily was gone and there could very well be a madman after them and she was married to the man sleeping in the seat next to her. It hardly seemed real at all.

But there was a ring on her finger, a ring the color of the desert, and there was still sage and dust in her hair and there was a sore, sticky feeling between her thighs that told her all this was quite real. She leaned against Spencer, felt the ease of his breath in sleep, and looked down at the ring on her finger. Thank You Lord, she thought, for blessing me that long ago. And thank You for letting me help You do this. This is why I was blessed, was it not? So I would have the strength to give and to love him. I will forever be grateful to You. But, I must ask, why do I feel like I'm missing something?

She sat and listened with an open heart, but no answers came.

Eventually she dozed off, resting against her husband.

**Spencer**

"_You think this is over boy?"_

_It had been hot before, but now it was cold; cold and dry and the snow was blowing over the plains. Thorne came around the building and growled at him with Hankel's voice. "You think this is over, boy?" _

_Spencer watched, rooted to the spot with horror as he opened the lid of the dumpster, letting out a reek of blood and burned flesh, revealing an interior padded in white satin. He reached down and pulled Emily up by her hair. She was naked and bleeding, shivering in the bitter cold and trying to cover herself in shame. "I'm sorry Spencer!" She cried. "I'm so sorry!"_

"_You think you've beaten me, boy? You think you can win?"_

_Spencer couldn't move. He looked at Emily; saw that her chest was hanging open, one breast hanging to the side like something that might have once come off a chicken. He could see muscle and bone and yellow fat and inside nothing but a ragged hole where her heart should be._

"_Run Spencer!" She cried to him. "Just run!"_

_Hankel/Thorne laughed at him. He laughed and laughed as he tossed Emily back in and the lid clanged shut…_

Spencer jerked awake, clutched the thing closest out of instinct. Thankfully, that happened to be Elizabeth. "You all right, love?" She asked him.

"Yeah," he told her, "just a nightmare." He rested his cheek on her curls. "Do you remember any poetry?"

"Some." She replied.

"I WONDER by my troth, what thou and I  
Did, till we loved ? were we not wean'd till then ?  
But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly ?  
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den ?  
'Twas so ; but this, all pleasures fancies be ;  
If ever any beauty I did see,  
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

And now good-morrow to our waking souls,  
Which watch not one another out of fear ;  
For love all love of other sights controls,  
And makes one little room an everywhere.  
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone ;  
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown ;  
Let us possess one world ; each hath one, and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,  
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest ;  
Where can we find two better hemispheres  
Without sharp north, without declining west ?  
Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally ;  
If our two loves be one, or thou and I  
Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die."

"You should get some more rest."

He sighed, and did.

* * *

.

* * *

Poem is "The Good Morrow" by John Donne. Written prior to 1635 and no longer under copyright


	67. Chapter 66

**Chapter 66**

**St. Martin's Episcopal Church**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

It was nearly 9pm when they got back. They were exhausted, neither wanted to do anything more than go fall into bed, this time to actually sleep. But as soon as the cab drove off they heard someone on the porch swing. "Just stop right there."

Spencer was just going for his gun as Elizabeth stepped behind him, when the dark shape unfolded itself and stepped forward. In the light of the streetlamp he caught sight of a familiar head, a familiar collar. "Harry!" She said a moment later. "You scared us! Have you lost your mind?"

"I was about to ask you the same question. No, no, do not argue. You march right over there and open that church."

"What?"

"Do as I say."

Even as Harry and Elizabeth were going back and forth more figures were coming down off the porch. Spencer turned to look and was instantly enfolded into a hug. "Garcia, what's going on?"

"Okay, look, I know why you did what you did and I cannot blame you in the slightest for doing it, but could you have at least invited us along?" She asked him before hugging him again.

"No, I…I didn't want to raise a fuss. This should be about Emily right now, if it wasn't for maybe having to go into Witness Protection, I never would have…."

Morgan interrupted him. "We know, kid, we know. Now just do what the man says, all right."

Spencer turned and looked to where Harry and Elizabeth were heading across the street. "Um, okay." He turned and followed them. By the time they got there the light was spilling out and he was able to see that it was Garcia and Morgan, Will and JJ, Hotch and a clearly disapproving Rossi, Thelma and Tomas. "Why are you all here?"

"Because we want to be," JJ told him. She reached up and hugged him, and Will shook his hand as they went past him and walked to the front of the church where Elizabeth was waiting.

Only Rossi stopped him. "You couldn't have waited until after the funeral?" He asked.

"And if we have to go in to witness protection from the cemetery?" Spencer shook his head. "That's why I didn't want to make it a big deal. I'm sorry." He watched Rossi sigh and walk up to the altar.

He went up to Elizabeth and took her hand. She stood there, her dress still smudged with the dust of the desert, turned to look at him, tired, exasperated, and utterly beautiful. "He wants us to say our vows again."

"Didn't you show him the license?"

"Yes she did." Harry said, coming back from the sacristy with a book in his hand and some kind of a scarf-thing around his neck. "While the difference between a courthouse and a church might not matter to you, it ought to to your bride. Now I am not upset." He said, raising a hand, "I understand and I happen to agree with your decision, but she has to face her congregation in the morning and it would be best if she could tell them it was a simple, private ceremony out of respect for your loss. Now stand there, hold hands, and hush until I tell you." He stood in front of them, and their friends stood behind them.

Once Harry opened the book Elizabeth leaned over and pointed. "We left out that line."

Harry stood there a moment, blinking. "Did you? How extraordinary. All right," he cleared his throat and began, going through the bare bones of the service, leaving out all references to parting at death. But it was at the blessing that Garcia and JJ started to sniffle.

_Most gracious God, we give you thanks for your tender love in sending Jesus Christ to come among us, to be born of a human mother, and to make the way of the cross to be the way of life._

_We thank you, also, for consecrating the union of man and woman in his Name._

_By the power of your Holy Spirit, pour out the abundance of your blessing upon this man and this woman._

_Defend them from every enemy._

_Lead them into all peace._

_Let their love for each other be a seal upon their hearts, a mantle about their shoulders, and a crown upon their foreheads._

_Bless them in their work and in their companionship; in their sleeping and in their waking; in their joys and in their sorrows; in their life and in their death._

_Finally, in your mercy, bring them to that table where your saints feast forever in your heavenly home; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, forever and ever._

_Amen._

Defend us from every enemy; Spencer thought, and lead us into peace. All right, we could use that.

At the end Harry closed the book firmly. "And it is my pleasure to present to you Dr and Reverend. Dr. Reid. Now I for one need a drink."

At least there was a little laughter.

* * *

He'd actually pictured this time a few times in his mind. He had considered a cream colored suit, figured Elizabeth for the simple white dress, flowers in her hair. They would end up sitting on this porch swing when it was all over, with their family around them, only it would be sunset and the end of a long, happy day. Now it was dark and near to midnight and it felt like it was some great secret somehow, and they weren't discussing the wedding at all, but they were on the swing and she was curled into his arms so it was all right after all.

They were home.

"The funeral is on Tuesday." Harry was saying, a glass of scotch still in his hand from the toast he had insisted on. "We'll be having the mass here, I didn't think you would mind, Bess. Granted I believe you said Emily was Roman Catholic."

"She had fallen away from the church." Rossi said. "I don't think she'd care."

"You're going to be saying the service then?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes," Harry replied, "Given that the rector wasn't here to make the arrangements."

"And Strauss wants to interview all of us tomorrow." Hotch said

"Of course she does." Rossi said. "Erin doesn't exactly understand the concept of mourning."

"I'm surprised she didn't do it today." Morgan said.

"And come in early from her vacation?" Rossi pointed out.

"It's a formality." Hotch pointed out. "It was Emily's choice to go; she made that clear when she left her badge and gun behind."

"What do you think she's going to say about this?" Spencer asked.

"Whatever she says, ignore it," Hotch told him. "An agent's personal life is not her business."

"I just wish you could have had a real wedding." Thelma said, a little teary still.

"I agree." Garcia said.

"Stop that." Elizabeth ordered gently. "How many times have I counseled a bride that the marriage is more important than the wedding? I'd be a hypocrite if I started fussing about mine. Besides, we couldn't do it right without Emily or Spencer's mama, so it was probably better this way. Now, let's not hear any more about it."

There were a few more words, a few more tears, but eventually they all headed off. Morgan was the last to go, Spencer walked with him to the driveway. When they got around the corner of the house the larger man turned. "So I guess this means I have my couch back for good."

Spencer considered that, and smiled. "I hope so." He waited a minute then offered his hand. "Thank you. I couldn't have made it through the past few months without you. I'm just sorry I couldn't have had you for my Best Man."

"Stop it man, that's what brothers do." Morgan ignored the hand and pulled him into a quick hug, "Although now you owe me for the bachelor party."

No, Spencer thought, I do not want to know. After the hug broke he had to ask. "Are you okay?"

Morgan was quiet a moment. "No. I'm still dammed pissed at her for not letting us help. You?"

"I still wish I could have said good-bye." He was quiet a moment. "I can hear her calling me a naughty boy over this one."

"And not wanting to even think of the wedding night." Morgan's grin was bright in the dark. "Speaking of, don't you have something you should be doing?"

Spencer stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, "Too late."

Morgan just started laughing.

After a quiet good night Spencer headed back to the porch where Elizabeth was waiting. "Did you ever feel like something was ending?' He asked as he sat beside her.

"Yes." She admitted. "But I feel like something is beginning too."

"What do you mean?"

"Just a feeling."

"Maybe from God," he was only teasing a little; he knew how important her faith was to her.

"Maybe," she agreed. "But with some science behind it."

"How so?" Spencer squirmed a little as he felt her fingers dipping into the pocket of his jeans. "Hey!" After a moment she fished out a small, foil packet.

A small, _intact_, foil packet.

"I just realized what we forgot." She said.

Spencer sat, rooted to the spot for a moment. Then he pulled her into his arms, and let the world change around him.

* * *

.

* * *

Blessing from the Book of Common Prayer


	68. Chapter 67

**Chapter 67**

**St. Martin's Episcopal Church**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Elizabeth**

To the end of her days, she would never know why she opened that file. She had just stepped into the church to see if Harry needed help, he hadn't done one of these in so long, and he was bustling about, speaking quietly to people, readying everything for the final trip, and he just handed her the file of paperwork.

To most people a coffin containing a body is the final bed of a loved one, a sacred repository of their lasting remains. But to the Health Department a coffin is what it is, a heavy, sealed box full of biohazard material, various and sundry toxic chemicals, bodily fluids loaded with bacteria, and meat by-products slowly working their way toward rot. Given the nature of the thing, they require ample paperwork be kept so that it gets moved around safely and finally put away in a manner that won't contaminate places or, God forbid, people.

Maybe it was because she knew Harry hadn't done one of these in a long time that had her opening the file and double checking the paperwork. But as she looked at it, she realized that something was not…right. She flipped through the form, death certificate, Burial Transit Permits, Certificate of Embalming, Authorization forms for Handling of the Deceased, Verification of Burial Plot…

Wait. That embalming certificate…..

**Spencer**.

He stood there, uncertain of what to do. It had been easier with Haley's funeral for some reason. It seemed smoother, more produced. Or maybe it was just because he was still on a cane then, and he'd had an excuse to sit out of the way. Now he was a real pall bearer and he wasn't sure what to do. No, it was more than that. Something was bothering him. Something about this whole event was bothering him, there was a pattern he hadn't quite made out yet, and it was going to bother him until he sorted it. But his confusion, his preoccupation, meant that when Elizabeth looked into the file Harry handed her, and got that confused, curious look on her face, and turned and headed in the direction of her office, he was free to follow her.

He stepped in after her and watched her set the open file down on her desk. She turned, pulled a file from her cabinet, and opened it to check something. As she lay the file down he saw that it was the same form. He came around the desk as she pulled out another file and lay it down beside the first. "What is it?" He asked.

"I don't know. It just seems off to me."

He looked over her shoulder at the form in question. Then he turned on her desk lamp and looked more closely. "Pull out a couple more." He urged, and then compared those to the form in question. They had all been filled out and signed by a Carlos Minelli as the undertaker of record. But the M was off, and the I's weren't quite right and that s was troubling and there was more in the rest of the form…

"What is it, love?" Elizabeth asked.

"It's…um…it's a forgery." Spencer told her. "In my best judgment, this form has been forged."

"What?" She looked at it again and frowned. "I knew it was off somehow, but I didn't think of that. Who would do that?"

"I'm, um, not sure." But there is a pattern here, he thought.

"We should tell Harry." She told him, as she started to gather up the file.

"No." Spencer stopped her. "I don't think we should tell anyone. Not yet. Just…trust me. And stay close to me, please." He gathered up the old files to shove them back in the drawer.

"All right," she said.

**Ristorante Piccolo**

**Georgetown**

**Washington DC**

**Hotch**

Rossi had rented out one of the nicer Italian restaurants for a memorial reception after the graveside service. It was elegant and intimate and the kind of thing Emily might have enjoyed if she were here. Everything was going perfectly, the team was clearly still in shock, her mother was in mourning, and her friends were all gathered. If Doyle or one of his people were watching they were clearly all celebrating the life of a deceased friend.

And yet something felt off.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it. It was as if one instrument in a symphony was just slightly out of tune. Not so much that the casual listener could hear it, but another musician could just almost pick it out. Something was just that much off, probably not enough for Doyle to notice, but he needed this flawless, and it simply was not.

JJ drifted over, carrying a glass that only looked to hold alcohol. She put her back to the crowd, creating an intimate space, hiding their conversation from the world. "You feel it too?" She murmured.

"Yes," he looked around the room again. There was Rossi, holding court near the Ambassador, supporting her in her grief, keeping Seaver close as a handy dogsbody. There was Morgan, with the other people from the Bureau, telling tales and drinking down an old friend, perhaps a bit more than he should, but that was to be expected. There was Strauss, making polite noises to the dignitaries who had known Emily's work, perhaps monopolizing Rev. Wickham but he didn't seem to mind. And there at a table in the corner was the real family that didn't quite fit the dignitaries, Jessica with Jack, Will with Henry, Garcia with Kevin, and Reid with Rev. Bess. They all looked like they had been crying, more or less. Was something off there?

"That's what it is." JJ said. "We're not used to Reid having someone."

It was true, he thought, he didn't think Spencer had let go of Rev. Bess' hand since he had stood down from his duty as a pall bearer. Even now their fingers were entwined like they would never let go. And they just felt…off somehow. "Maybe," he said. And then Reid looked over at him and for a second, for just a second, the younger man's eyes were full of bitter anger. But then they softened into grief and he turned back to the children. That was personal, Hotch thought, that was meant for me. "Jesus." He muttered. This might not be good.

"What?" JJ asked.

"Reid knows."

JJ blinked at him as the color drained from her face, "How?"

"He profiled it." Hotch told her, making his own intuitive leap. "I don't know on what basis, but he's…Reid." He watched the table a moment longer. "He won't say anything. We forget how good an actor he can be. He had to comfort a schizophrenic all those years."

"What are you going to do?" She asked.

"I don't know." Hotch said, "I don't know."

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

At the end of the day Spencer flopped back onto that special, nearly magical bed he had seen created. He was right; the old four poster had been easy to convert to a king size. Not that either of them needed the width, but he hated it when his feet hung off the end. Then he'd polished it and added a featherbed and quilts and ample pillows, all to make it the perfect spot for the two of them.

They had developed a ritual at the end of the day. They came home, in his case had a quick shower, and changed out of their work clothes. Elizabeth set aside her black skirts and stockings and her clerical shirts now, and put on soft, loose pants or a long, flowing colorful skirt usually, and some kind of a tank top or camisole. And he peeled out of the suit and vest, tie and contacts, and put on his most comfortable cords, his softest shirts, and his glasses. At the end of the day they stopped being Rev. and SSA and went back to being Elizabeth and Spencer, a couple, now newlyweds, in their twenties, young and in love. And with that setting aside they could set aside the barriers and boundaries that kept their true thoughts and feelings from showing to the world.

And today, that mattered more than ever. He lay there, looking up at the canopy, trying to put words to what he was thinking, and more importantly, feeling.

Elizabeth came over, climbed on the bed to sit beside him, facing his head, and rested one hand on his chest. "Okay." She said, giving him a little shake. "What have you not been telling me all day?"

"Emily wanted to be cremated." He said. "We were on this case in Seattle, Washington with a man who embalmed his victims so he could spend time with them after they died, and she said that the body is only a polished shell, there was no reason to keep it intact after death. She wanted to be cremated; she said she put it in her will."

"So why didn't they cremate her?"

"How much of the body do you see in an open casket?" He continued. "At every funeral I've ever been to the casket has been closed, but usually they died from extreme violence, so there really isn't much body left. But Emily died from a wound to her lower abdomen."

"Well that shouldn't have mattered." She said, "They can only open the top end, which only shows from about mid-chest up. Now a lot of people don't want to look at their loved one like that, so they keep it closed." She lightly rubbed the center of his chest. "Why?"

"Hotch didn't cry."

"Excuse me?"

"Hotch didn't cry. Everyone else has been bawling their eyes out over this, even Rossi at the grave. But Hotch never cried, not once. And neither did JJ, even though she came to tell us her best friend had died on the table; not one tear."

"Spencer, I don't…"

"And someone forged the embalming paperwork." He finished. "Why would you not cry for someone you cared about, not follow their dying wish, not show their body so people can say good-bye, and fake the paperwork that showed that their body was processed?"

Elizabeth sat in silence a moment and just stared at him. "Because there was no one to cry for, there was no body."

Spencer nodded. "And they didn't cremate her because they needed a big, flashy funeral to get everyone to believe she's dead."

She sat there a long moment. "My only thoughts are that, either they're trying to protect her from Doyle, she's going after him and wants him to let his guard down, or both, given that she needs time to recover."

He nodded. "I agree. And those are all valid reasons and because of that I intend to support their lie. And I hope you will too." He picked up her hand and kissed it.

"Of course I will."

"But for right now, in here because it's safe in here, I think I'd like to be a selfish asshole for a few."

"Spencer Reid, you are not a selfish asshole."

"Yes, I am. Because she's out there alone, and who knows what could happen to her in the future, and all I keep thinking is that she didn't even say good-bye. Hell, she didn't even leave a note like Gideon and my Dad. Fuck!" He never cursed, but this warranted it, as well as the quick pounding he gave the mattress. "I just wish people would stop fucking walking out of my life!"

Elizabeth didn't move; she just watched him with dampened eyes. "I know love, I'm sorry."

"And you know what the hell of it is? I can't even tell my shrink." He laughed without humor. "I'm going to just stop going because she's going to want to discuss my grief over my dead friend, who isn't dead. But I can't discuss my abandonment issues because of National Security!"

She almost laughed. "That's almost funny."

He kept holding her hand over his heart. "The bad part is that now I have to ask myself how I'm supposed to trust those people. How can I know that they will help keep me safe when we're out there when at any time they can just walk out the door and not come back? I mean, if they gave two-week notice or something you could prepare, but they never do."

"Now stop that." She admonished him gently. "Now answer me a couple of things. First off, how many people have left the BAU since you've been there?"

"Four." He answered her, "Elle, Gideon, JJ and now Emily."

"And how many of them left while you were out on a case? I mean out of the office on a case."

"Um," Spencer thought a moment. "None, not while we were on a case. Elle didn't show up for work, Gideon didn't show up for work, JJ left immediately after a case, and Emily left while we were presenting a profile at the BAU."

"So you could look at it like all of them made sure you and the others were safe at home before they took off. None of them ever abandoned the team when you were in any risk of danger."

He considered this a long moment. "This is true, they never violated that trust. But still, they left."

"How any of them promised they would never leave period, as opposed to promising to have your back in the field?"

Now that took a bit more consideration. "None," he blinked up at her. "But I expected them…I expected them to take the place of my parents, and they're not. There's an implicit non-abandonment clause to parenting, which my parents broke, and I've been looking for surrogate, well, parents ever since."

She nodded. "Now you are all as close as a family, but you're a bunch of brothers and sisters if I ever saw them."

"And sometimes brothers and sisters move on." He looked up at the canopy again. "I'm going to miss her."

"Pretend she's somewhere wonderful. Somewhere she always wanted to be."

"Paris." He said. "She said she always loved Paris."

"Paris then, and she's being a brat and not writing."

Spencer could laugh at that. "That sounds like her."

Now it was Elizabeth's turn to kiss his fingers. "Now as your wife, a different sort of relationship, I promise never to leave you. Not for anything."

"Don't say that." He said.

"Why not?"

He couldn't be honest. He simply could not say he was afraid she was tempting the Devil. "Murphy," he decided, finally, "The God of Everything That Can Go Wrong. Don't tempt him like that, he'll send someone to take you away somehow."

She shook her head. "Not gonna happen. Dedicated to a different God, remember? Besides, even if someone did take me away, and they would have to take, I would never go willingly, all I would be doing was thinking of you and trying to figure out how to get back to you, or trying to survive until you got to me." She kissed his fingers again. "Nothing else matters to me. I didn't take an oath to the FBI or the government or anyone else, just you."

"And God," he had to point out.

"Yes, but I think this is His priority too." She just sighed. "I am not leaving you Spencer Reid. Even if my body isn't here for whatever reason, you are still the biggest thing that matters to me, and I will give everything I have to come home to you."

For a moment, for one strange, odd moment, Spencer swore he was seven years old again, and someone was making his most secret wish come true. He held his breath as the whole world stopped, "Promise?" He asked, very quietly.

"I promise." She answered in a near whisper.

He just looked at her for a long moment as the world shifted around them. "There is one good thing about all this." He said when he felt right again.

"What's that?"

"We don't have to worry about dishonoring the dead." And he tugged her down into his arms.


	69. Chapter 69

**Chapter 68**

**BAU headquarters**

**Quantico. VA**

**Spencer**

He hadn't realized what the hardest part would be.

They were all still mourning.

Blending in wasn't that hard. He missed Emily deeply, of course, regardless of why she was gone. And he did not believe he would ever see her again. Take that loss and just be very quiet and it was easy to be considered to be in mourning as well.

No, the hardest part was watching his friends hurt. There really was, in the end, a big difference between _gone_ and _dead_. All the others thought she was dead, not just off somewhere and not in contact with them. Of course they had to think she was dead, or else they would go off to try to help her, and that would lead Doyle right to her. It all made sense. But it was hard, seeing everyone so clearly miserable. It wasn't even that Garcia wanted to cry, she still was crying off and on. And Ashley, still recovering from what happened in that cave and now to have her best listener about it gone. And Rossi and Morgan and…

Okay, it was hard. It was going to be hard. Now man up and get the job done.

He thought he'd been doing well, mostly by not talking much to anyone, and when he did keeping it focused on work. Reid, the human computer, strikes again. But then someone called his name.

"Reid." Hotch was calling from the other side of the bullpen. "A word, please."

He got up and headed that way, expecting to head to Hotch's office. But instead they headed to the SCIF, the secure room where no one could eavesdrop in any way. Once inside the secure chamber with the door sealed Hotch turned to look at him. The moment stretched on and on.

"I can't ask." Hotch finally said.

Of course he couldn't, Spencer thought. If he asked it would be tantamount to admitting that something was off. All I have to do at this moment is say 'Ask about what?' and Hotch won't have confirmation and what I know will be my secret. But this morning on the train he'd had a revelation, and now he knew. It still hurt, but he knew. "You didn't cry, not once." He started. "Neither did JJ. And you didn't follow her last wishes and have her cremated even though you had Emily's POA, and yet you didn't open the casket." He didn't want to bring Elizabeth into it, he didn't want to, but Hotch knew him too well and was waiting for the rest of it now and would not be satisfied with just that much. "And Elizabeth noticed that something was wrong with the paperwork. I checked it against her files and realized that some of it was forged." He shook his head as Hotch sighed. "She brought it to me, I never would have brought it to her."

"I realize that. In these cases we always assume the spouse knows anyway."

"It's a good forgery. If you didn't have an expert with a dozen other examples in front of him you wouldn't be able to tell."

"That's not the point. We were hoping to keep this buttoned up tighter than that."

"No, you were hoping I wouldn't know."

Hotch sighed again. "Reid…"

Spencer interrupted him. "No, I understand." He'd realized it on the train this morning, when he spotted one of the other guys from Beltway Clean Cops getting on. Not that he had said anything to him, but just the sight of the other guy had been enough to make him realize the problem. "I'm too much of a security risk." He managed a sheepish smile. "I'm too easy to interrogate now."

"If it's any consolation, you were the one she worried most about leaving." Hotch told him. "She very nearly refused because she didn't want to risk your having…problems but when she found out you eloped she figured you'd be all right."

Problems. Polite euphemism for she didn't want to risk the C-PTSD flaring up, Spencer thought, she didn't want to hurt me after all, send me into a breakdown or back on drugs. Dammit Emily, now I'm going to miss my sister. "Is that why you went up against Strauss for me?" He had known in the interview that she had been shocked at his elopement, even though every word out of her mouth was professional. The Human Computer has a life, what a concept.

"Mostly." Hotch managed a flash of what might be a smile. "You know we still can't tell the others."

Now that confused him a moment. "Why not? If I was the concern and now I know…"

"It's better to keep their reactions authentic. Besides, the reasons for keeping Doyle away from the team are still valid."

Now it was Spencer's turn to sigh. "I hate seeing them hurt like this." He admitted.

"So do I." Hotch said, showing what was, for him, real emotion. "I'm honestly glad I'm not the only one who has to carry that now."

Spencer nodded. "So am I."

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

The hardest part was having to watch everyone hurting. He hated to admit it, but the best part was coming home at the end of the day. He buttoned up his shirt after his shower, put on his glasses and sighed. Now he didn't have to pretend anything, now he could honestly miss his sister and not have to falsely mourn her.

Elizabeth was in the kitchen, having gotten home before him. She usually did, her commute was all of across the street, so even if she worked later she still managed to make it home first. It was working out that she did the all the cooking, she actually enjoyed cooking and baking and was good at it, while he enjoyed eating and yet was only good at making coffee. He did not, however, mind washing the dishes after, so it balanced out. He stepped up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and placed a kiss on the side of her neck. "Hey. What's for dinner?"

"Hey. Black bean soup with chorizo, salad and bread." She replied, tapping the crusty, round loaf with the end of her spoon to hear the hollow sound. "How was work?"

"Not easy. Hotch knows we know." He fished a soda from the fridge, and leaned a hip against the counter while they talked.

She turned half around to look at him over her shoulder. "How much trouble are we in?"

"None, really. He said he would assume that you know if I know." He quickly summed up the discussion they'd had in the SCIF.

"How do you know it's safe to talk in here?" She interrupted at one point.

"Because this building is so old that the walls and doors and even the windows are thick enough to prevent eavesdropping. And I, um, sweep the place for bugs on a regular basis." He could only shrug and sheepishly smile when she turned to look at him again. "Call it geeky paranoia."

"Set the table." Was all she said, ending the interruption.

The table was set, the dinner brought to, and eventually they were sitting in the corner of the kitchen enjoying it. "So what I don't understand is why you're such a security risk." She said. "Why don't they trust you?"

"I'm too easy to interrogate now." He told her.

"Why?"

"Dilaudid clears the body fairly quickly, if you're going to suffer withdrawal symptoms they usually peak about eighteen hours after our last dose, and then it's out of your system at thirty-six hours. And it's very easy to become physically re-addicted and end up with withdrawal symptoms after you've already been through it once."

Elizabeth just sat there and digested that a long moment along with her soup. "So you're saying he could re-addict you and make you go through withdrawal every two days?"

"Until I broke and told him what he wanted to hear or my heart stopped, probably." Given how hellish the first time had been, the chances of him cracking to get more and avoid the pain was admittedly high. "I think I'm on the list of people Emily believes she has to protect from Doyle, just for that reason alone."

She just sighed and rested her chin in her hands. "Oh good Lord, love, I didn't realize it could be that bad."

"Hey, you are not allowed to worry about me. Remember, we talked last night about how we all take care of each other when we're out in the field. And the only thing addicting at the BAU is the coffee. Well, and maybe Garcia's cookies."

"All right, but I'm going to keep praying for you, you know that. And don't you roll your eyes at me." She said, starting him chuckling. "I just wish we could do something for Emily."

"We can't do anything for her until Doyle is caught." No, until he's dead, Spencer thought, but he wouldn't say that to her.

"I know. But now I wish we'd taken wedding pictures, I'd start her a scrapbook so she could get caught up when she gets back. If she gets back."

Spencer blinked at her a few times. "You know, I like that idea. We'll start taking pictures anytime we all get together or something like that. In the meantime I'll make a few sketches for wedding pictures." In the courthouse in their work clothes ought to be good for a laugh. "You know, I'm still going to miss her."

She reached out and took his hand. "I think I'm going to miss her too."


	70. Chapter 70

**Chapter 69**

**Gulfstream 5000**

**North Central US airspace**

**Spencer**

And life went on.

Strauss ordered them all to mandatory psychiatric evaluations after what happened. No one wanted to go, of course. After his the psychiatrist retired, but that had been expected. After Rossi's the psychiatrist retired as well, which was kind of a surprise, no one thought he had it in him. Only Seaver kept going, but that had also been expected. With Emily gone she didn't have a woman on the team to talk to except Garcia, and Garcia had a unique outlook on their cases. He'd invited her over so she could talk to Elizabeth more than once, but finally Seaver told him thanks, but no thanks. "I want to keep this in the Bureau." She said, "Your wife shouldn't have to hear the details of what we do from anyone but you." He had to admire her for that. She had come over more than once for help in studying, she was that determined to make it. He admired her for that too.

It had been six weeks all told. Six weeks of desk duty, then some basic field work, gradually getting themselves together and back on the proverbial horse. Thankfully Doyle had yet to stick his head out of whatever hole he had crawled into, so they hadn't had to go into Witness Protection after all. Now they were off on their first real case without Emily. Now they were off to Morris, Minnesota. They had an enucleator, an Unsub who took his victim's eyes, which was creepy in and of itself, only this one went after children….

Spencer sighed. Not only was it the first time out without Emily, not only was it a creepy case and a kid case, both of which were bad on their own, but together they were really bad, but his rock had not been all that stable lately. Over the past week or so Elizabeth had felt like she was coming down with the flu or something. She'd been tired and achy and feeling a little queasy and off. He'd suggested she cut back at the church, if not outright take a few days off, let Mr. Johnson take over Matins at least so she could get some extra sleep, but she wouldn't hear of it. But that had meant no evening Star Trek marathons, no reading to each other in bed, no games of chess after dinner and no dancing around the foyer, none of all the things great and small that helped to balance out their work lives. And he had missed it.

And then there was this morning. He frowned and realized there was something he hadn't done. And so he tucked himself into the galley and speed dialed #7.

"Hey Reid."

Spencer sighed inwardly. Garcia hadn't had a snappy comeback for anyone ever since Emily had been gone. "Hey Garcia, I was wondering if you could do a favor for me?"

"Probably, what's up?"

"Um, I gave Elizabeth your outside number. She doesn't want to call me while we're out in the field, she doesn't want to interrupt if we're entering an Unsubs house or something. But she hasn't been feeling well over the past week or so and this morning was worse, so I told her to call you if it was an emergency. I figured you would be able to decide what needed my attention more."

"Oh of course sweetie, I'd be happy to. I already do that for Jessica and I used to for Will. I tried to do that with Haley but she always insisted on calling the boss man directly, she thought I was keeping him from her. Not that I want to speak ill of the dead or anything. Is she like really sick?" Spencer could hear the dread in her voice.

"No, it's probably just the flu, or something like that, but she overslept this morning, which is really unusual for her, so, you know, I just want to be careful."

"Yeah, I hear that. We don't need anything else going wrong. Okay, I'll keep an ear out for her; you go stop the bad guy."

"Thanks Garcia."

"Anytime, sweets. Garcia out."

**St. Martin's Episcopal Church**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Elizabeth**

She was exhausted.

Yesterday had been a completely normal day for her. She'd had her usual breakfast, come in to say Matins, and looked over the books in the morning. After Mass and lunch she'd gone over to the hospital for visitations. Dinner had been simple and healthy, and then she'd even turned in early. But this morning she had overslept, so she'd had to skip everything but some juice in order to open the church on time, and now she was exhausted and her stomach was in absolute knots.

_Seek the Lord while he wills to be found;  
call upon him when he draws near.  
Let the wicked forsake their ways  
and the evil ones their thoughts;  
And let them turn to the Lord, and he will have compassion,  
and to our God, for he will richly pardon. _

Now if she could just get through the rest of Matins she might just go home and rest a little while, have a real breakfast, something to settle her stomach, anything to settle her stomach and her nerves. But she was only on the Canticle –

_For my thoughts are not your thoughts,  
nor your ways my ways, says the Lord. _

She wasn't going to make it.

_For as the heavens are higher than the earth,  
so are my ways higher than your ways,  
and my thoughts than…than…._

She wasn't even going to make it to the sanctuary.

She lifted the skirts of her vestments and bolted for the nearest door. Thankfully it was their handicapped entrance, which meant she had a railing to lean over while she blessed the shrubbery with the meager contents of her stomach. Oh good Lord, she thought, I haven't been this sick in…well, ever. Then another wave came and she stopped thinking at all.

A few moments later she was sitting in the front pew with utterly no recollection of how she got there. Familiar, soft hands were gentle on her brow as if testing for fever, and then helping her clean off with a wet cloth. Her mouth tasted like a sewer, which wasn't helping things at all, and she rather suspected she had some in her hair, but thankfully she'd missed her vestments completely.

"Are you feeling better?" Thelma asked her.

All she could do was nod a moment. "Yes, I think so. Oh, I've been feeling like I've been coming down with the flu. It looks like it's finally here."

"Well, I've never known you to get sick like that. Come on, we're going to get you out of your vestments and then I'm going to call Dr. Stanick and get you in this morning." Thelma stuck her arm under Elizabeth's, clearly brooking no arguments.

Not that Elizabeth was up to arguing. Her head was still swimming, her stomach was still twitchy and she just wanted to rest. She let Thelma help her pull her layers of vestments off, didn't even bother to put them away correctly, and then docilely followed her into the office. Once there she made a quick stop in the bathroom to tidy up and rinse her mouth, then she just stood by the small counter that separated Thelma's desk from the door, swaying slightly, while she listened to Thelma calling her doctor.

"You need to go sit down." Thelma told her, once she was on hold.

Over on another counter, the one the usually held stuff to go to the Nursery, was a big tub of animal crackers. She looked at them, completely befuddled a moment, and then realized she was hungry. No, not hungry, but starving. She went over to help herself to a few. They were good. No, they were ambrosia, manna in the dessert kind of good. She took the tub with her and kept munching as she went to sit in the chair beside Thelma's desk. Thelma just looked at her, and then gave her this smug little smile. "What?" Elizabeth asked.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. As soon as I get a time I am driving you to the doctor." Thelma replied.

"No you're not."

"Well, you're not driving yourself, not in this state."

"Yes, but someone has to be here to deflect my appointments. I'll take a cab over."

"Oh Bess, don't be silly."

"I am not being silly, I can make it in a cab, I'm not dead. In fact, I'm starting to feel better." Her stomach was settling, at least. "I'll take a cab over and then take the rest of the day off."

"And take tomorrow off too. Mr. Johnson can cover for you. I think there's still enough of the Host left in the tabernacle. After that see what Spencer says."

Elizabeth sighed. This was really going to set Thelma off. "He might not be home tonight. They went back into the rotation today."

"Well then you stay home until he gets back." Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue that that could be the rest of the week, only to have Thelma cut her off. "No arguments. We need you here and healthy, and if that means taking a few days off to get that way then that's what you do." She held up a finger and went back to the phone. Elizabeth kept munching on her tub of animal crackers. I'll get another for the nursery, she thought, those kids have been holding out on me. After a few minutes she confirmed and hung up. "All right, if you get over there he can see you, he has a cancellation. I'll call a cab."

**Office of Dr. Roland Stanick**

**Washington DC**

"So what's going on with you?" The nurse asked Elizabeth.

"Oh, I think I might be coming down with the flu." She told her. "I've been really tired lately and kind of achy sorta, and then the past day or so I've been real queasy. And then this morning I threw up during Matins and so my secretary insisted I come down." Elizabeth managed a sheepish smile. It seemed silly to her, she was already starting to feel better.

"All right, well according to this you aren't on any medication. Let's get a temperature and your blood pressure…" the nurse bustled around the exam room getting what she needed.

And then she asked one more question.

And everything changed

* * *

Prayer is from Isaiah 55: 6-11


	71. Chapter 71

**Chapter 70**

**Morris Police Department**

**Morris, MN**

**Spencer**

The problem was missing children. The Unsub was taking them one and two at a time, keeping them for they didn't know how long and for they didn't know what reason, then strangling them and taking their eyes. The problem was the number of missing children in however wide a region he was pulling from. At this moment only one or two at best were with the Unsub, sorting which one or two was turning out to be a major chore.

Thankfully they had their personal Goddess on their side. "Are those enough parameters Garcia?" Spencer asked what looked to be thin air. It's a lot like praying, he thought, except this actually gets reliable, repeatable, results.

"Yep, this will work. While I go looking you call your wife." Thin air answered back.

"Is she all right?" Spencer asked. She'd never called him while he was away on a case before, he always called her.

"She said she was, she didn't call emergency, but she asked me to ask you to call when you got a chance. I don't know, she sounded off to me, but you did say she was sick."

"Okay, I'll call her. Thanks Garcia."

"Anytime, will call when I have results." Thin air clicked off.

Rather than call in the middle of everything Spencer told the others he'd be back in five, and stepped out the back door. It's a lot healthier than a smoke break, he thought, as he speed dialed. "Hey." He said when the phone was answered. "Are you okay? What's going on?"

"Yeah, I'm all right." Elizabeth said. "I just needed to hear you, that's all."

"You don't sound all right." She didn't, he thought, she sounded tight and nervous and her voice was quavery and she was sniffling like she had been crying.

"I am, Spencer, really. I just wanted to know you were out there."

No, he thought, she sounds scared. "Okay, you sound scared to me, which is getting me worried. Don't make me send an agent over to check on you."

"No! No, Spencer. It's just…" She sighed. "Look, I'm fine. I'm all locked in and I'm staying in until you get back and if anything happens Thelma is just a few blocks away. I'm safe, really."

"Okay, I accept that you're physically safe. So what's going on?"

"Nothing. Well, something, but it's not emergent and I don't want to talk about it over the phone." She managed a strangled laugh. "See now it sounds silly. It's just…the dammed C-PTSD is flaring up again." At that Spencer relaxed a little. "I swear I've had three flashbacks just this afternoon, and I was on the edge of a panic attack and I called Garcia just hoping that hearing from you would calm it down."

Well, no wonder she was so upset. She was fine, just…upset. "Is it?"

"Yeah, a little."

"Why don't you call Thelma or Harry to come over? You know they will."

"Because Harry is out of town and Thelma will just tell me I'm being silly."

Spencer sighed. How many times had he felt that way? It didn't make it any easier when the anxiety was unreasonable, the emotion was real, it was just harder to get support. "Why do you think that? What set this off?"

"I…I don't want to talk about it over the phone."

Now that set him blinking. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. And I don't want you thinking you have to come right home either. I'll be fine, you go catch bad guys. Just…when you do get back to DC, don't dawdle on the way home, please?"

"Sure. I'll ask Morgan if he'll cover my paperwork. Feeling any better?"

She sighed. "A little."

"Hmmm..I think I know what might help."

"John Donne?"

"I was thinking something older." He replied.

" _The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. _

_He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: _

_He leadeth me beside the still waters. _

_He restoreth my soul_

_He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. _

_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; _

_Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. _

_Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:_

_Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. _

_Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever."_

She sighed when he was done. "I do love you, you know that?"

"Every day. Call Thelma if you need her, or call your therapist. I'll be home as soon as I can."

Spencer closed his phone, sighed, and went back into the station, only to almost run headlong into Hotch. "Is everything all right? Do you need to go?"

That was…remarkably good of him to ask, Spencer thought, they were already so shorthanded. They started walking back to the conference room. "I think everything's fine. Um…" Now the question was how much Morgan had told him. "She's having a C-PTSD flare-up, but from what I understand she's had worse before. We have contingency plans in place. She'll be fine."

"Good." Hotch always was one to approve of prior planning, Spencer thought. "Any idea what triggered it?"

"No." Spencer considered this. "She did make it clear that she was physically safe, so I doubt it has anything to do with Doyle. Given that she didn't want to tell me and she has been ill, I may need a little time when we get back."

Hotch nodded again. "We can work with that. Right now Garcia has the information we requested."

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

Perfect timing. Having worked all night through to catch the Unsub they managed it, finally, and saved the two children he was holding. He'd been using them as artist models, in his mind preserving their innocence forever by inserting the eyes into the sculptures. It promised to be an interesting interview someday, but right now he had other things on his mind. He left his paperwork with Morgan, who owed him for all the times he'd done it for him, Spencer walked in the door just as Elizabeth was pouring hot water into the tea pot. "Hey. I practically came straight from the airport." He dropped his go bag by the door and his satchel on a kitchen chair, then dragged around a counter stool so he could sit and be at her height. "Okay, now what is going on?"

She turned to him. She was looking a little wan around the edges, was holding herself, a sign of wanting protection, managed to look both sheepish and a little scared at the same time. He watched her take a deep breath. "Remember that condom we forgot?"

Remember the…he'd forgotten in all the mess around Emily's funeral. Granted he didn't forget, he still remembered every second of the encounter in question and every one after, but he hadn't thought of it…Wait, get back around to the point of this, she's been ill and you forgot the condom and that could mean that….wait… He blinked at her a few times. "You're…pregnant?"

She nodded and placed her hands on her lower abdomen. "Yeah. They date from the start of your last period so…eight weeks and two days, exactly." He watched her take a deep breath. "Are you…okay with this? I mean, we did just get married and…"

He stopped her right there. "I am beyond okay, I'm absolutely thrilled!" All he could think of was Henry and Jack and how utterly cool and wonderful it was to look after them and now they would have one of their own. "Oh my god, we're having a baby!" He rather thought his head was going to explode. His heart already had.

"Yeah, we are." She said, in a very quiet voice.

"Yeah, we are!" Wait, she didn't seem nearly as enthused as he was. He gently put his hands around her shoulders. "Wait, what's wrong."

She sagged a little under his hands. "Spencer, I just can't stop thinking about what happened to Momma. I keep remembering her moaning and wailing and then it got so quiet and there was so much blood. I just…" Her face crumpled as she started to cry. "I know this is going to sound silly but I am scared out of my mind. I don't want to end up like Momma! There's too much I want to do, I don't want to die!" She pitched forward into his arms and started crying in earnest.

Dr. Reid, he thought, you are officially an idiot. Of course this would bring up memories of her mother; of course this would cause her C-PTSD to flare up. You should have seen this coming, it's not an unfounded fear. He held her close, gently stroked her hair, let her soak his shirt as much as she liked. "Hey, shhhh. It's going to be all right. Shhhh. " He held her until the storm of tears subsided enough for her to hear. "You are not going to turn out like your mother, all right. Your mother probably wasn't all that healthy to begin with, then she didn't have any health care, and then she only had a lawyer with delusions of grandeur to help her through the birth. You are in perfect health, you going to have the best care available in the country and you are going to be so carefully watched during labor if you hiccup wrong they're going to double check just to be sure. And you are not going to go through it alone, I'm going to be there the entire time. I'm going to hold you through the whole thing."

Her sobs were shuddering to a stop against his collarbone. "Promise?" She said, sounding like a fourteen year old scared out of her wits.

"I promise." He held her until she relaxed and came to herself again.

Finally she stood up and went to find the tissues, still sniffling a little. "I just keep thinking of the Aliens movies, those monsters coming out of people's stomachs."

Oh, just the image we all needed. Spencer watched her, mentally wondering how she was going to look six months from now. "Newt." He said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Newt. " He watched her blink at him. "Newt, the little girl Ripley saves in the second movie. We need to call it something and it doesn't even have an external genital bud yet. Newt is a gender-neutral nickname. So in homage to the idea of a monster in the stomach, Newt."

"Newt." She looked down at where her stomach was under her skirt.

He pulled her back into his arms, close enough to lay a hand on her stomach down there. It was relatively flat and utterly miraculous. "Hello Newt." He said. "Welcome home."


	72. Chapter 72

**Chapter 71**

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

"Where's Reid?" Came the voice from the doorway.

Morgan looked up from his desk, distracted from his paperwork. "What?"

Garcia was standing there, looking just the smallest bit upset. "Where's Reid?' She asked again.

"Hotch said he was coming in late, something personal. Why?"

"Oh, is he going to the doctor? 'Cause he said Reverend Bess has been sick and she sounded kind of weird over the phone while you were in Morris and, you know…" She trailed off.

Morgan looked at his baby girl. She was worried, but that was understandable, they had all been through so much. He got up and went over to give her a hug. "Hey, stop worrying. Hotch said Reid would be in by noon, we'll find out soon enough. Okay." He looked over her shoulder and spotted that familiar, stick thin figure coming out of the elevator. "See, he's here already."

Both of them turned and waited as Spencer came up the stairs and joined them. "Hey guys, what's going on?"

"You took Reverend Bess to the doctor, didn't you?" Garcia practically accused him. "She's really sick, isn't she? See, I knew it, it's been one horrible thing after another and now this."

Spencer looked at his two best friends, put his hands in his pockets, twisted his lips and pretended to consider them. There really wasn't a consideration; he knew who needed to be told. Garcia was practically in tears here. Without a word, he reached out, took her hand, and tugged her in the direction of her lair.

Once there he fished a CD out of his bag and held it out to her. She looked at it like he was joking with her. "Are you serious?"

"They said it was state of the art tech for this sort of thing." He told her. "Take a look."

With a doubtful look she took the CD out and after a few clicks fired up the short movie file there. The movie was silent and grainy, the quality was horrible, but eventually it showed that it was showing some kind of a long oval. Off center in the oval was what looked like a large bubble. And in that bubble was something the shape of a large-ish kidney bean. Spencer watched as Garcia's eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. "Is that…" She whispered.

"Wait for it." He told her.

The film switched to another angle, and now it felt like they were looking down at the kidney bean. As they watched it opened two tiny arms and two buds that would someday be legs as if it was asking for a hug.

"Oh my God!" Garcia all but cried. "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!"

Spencer couldn't say anything. He just stood there grinning with the same sense of wondrous euphoria he'd felt watching it live in the doctor's office just a few hours before. Holy crap, it really was a baby.

"What did I miss?" Morgan asked, having finally caught up with them. He stopped as the images replayed on the screen. "Whoa." He stood there and watched for a long moment, then he turned to Spencer and grinned. "Congratulations, man. How long has it been?"

"Exactly six weeks and three days, which makes it technically eight weeks and two days according to the doctors."

Garcia turned to him, an expression of shocked wonder on her face. "Wait a minute, that's how long it's been since Emily died. Are you saying this happened the same day?"

"Actually it's been six weeks and four days. Given that it was closer to thirty six hours after, um, not exactly."

"Are you sure?" She asked.

"Yeah, Garcia, I was there. It was definitely the next day."

"And how long had you two been married?' She asked

"Okay, I do not want to hear the details." Morgan protested.

"Um, maybe twelve hours," Reid felt the tips of his ears burning as he looked over at his smiling friend. "I forgot it in my pocket, all right. We were officially married so chill out."

"This is a sign." Garcia said to them.

"What's a sign?" Rossi asked, as he came into the room. He stopped, his jaw dropped, and he turned to Morgan, pointing at the screen with a questioning look on his face. Morgan just pointed at Spencer.

"This is from Emily. She did this." Garcia declared.

"Um, Garcia, I think I can safely say that was just me and Elizabeth. There wasn't anyone else for miles."

"Miles?" Rossi asked. "You were in Vegas."

How did this conversation go this way? "Elizabeth wanted to see the desert."

"What did I just say about the details?" Morgan was still protesting.

"No, this is from Emily. Do you know what the chances are of a lucky shot like that? No, no." Garcia held up a hand to silence him. "Do not quote me statistics. This is from Emily, she made this happen. She wanted us to have something good and wonderful and hopeful in our lives and this is what she did for us. I firmly believe that."

"Why are we all in here?" Of course Hotch had to come looking for them.

Rossi turned to him and nodded toward the screen. "They created the Antichrist." He said.

"Rossi!" Spencer had to attempt a protest of his own.

"What?" The older man asked, all innocence.

"Hey, don't look at me." Morgan held up his hands. "As far as I'm concerned it's a miracle. I do not want to know."

Hotch turned and blinked at the screen. "What did the doctor say?"

"She said everyone is in perfect health, at least physically." Leave it to Hotch to get to the important stuff. "She's due December ninth."

"See, it's a Christmas gift!" Garcia said, as she started to sniffle.

"Physically?" Hotch asked.

Spencer nodded. "Finding out she's pregnant was what triggered the flare-up. It's understandable, her mother died in childbirth, she was in the house at the time, so it brought back all those memories."

"The doctor doesn't think it could be a problem?" Rossi asked. "Like mother, like daughter, usually."

"No. Thorne doesn't allow his followers to have any pre-natal care and they have to go through childbirth unassisted. It could have been any one of a dozen things, all of which would have been caught in a routine exam and dealt with before labor began. Given that she was going to go home and start looking at birth centers. It's early in the process, but it's helping to calm her anxiety. She's most familiar with the staff at Georgetown, but Washington Hospital Center has a slightly better reputation, and JJ spoke highly of her experience there."

"So did Haley." Hotch told him. "If you need any time off, so long as we're not on a case, let me know."

"Thank you." Spencer said. If Haley and JJ both delivered at Washington Hospital Center, that was good enough for him. But in the end it was up to Elizabeth. "At the moment we're just hoping she makes it through the next few months. Now that Easter is past she has three or four weddings every Saturday."

"Can't she get some help?" Morgan asked.

Spencer shook his head. "Not for that. There really isn't anyone available until the end of May when the seminaries graduate, then they can assign an associate to the parish. In the meantime she's cutting back on her volunteer hours, she's going to ask Mr. Johnson to take the morning services, and she's taking Mondays off as well." He shrugged. "I think she'll be fine."

"All right, but if you two need anything, you let us know." The nods in the room made it clear that Morgan spoke for everyone.

"I will; thank you." There were congratulations all around, and a hug from Garcia that took the air out of his lungs.

"I do have one question though." Morgan said. "You're twenty-eight now, right?"

Spencer nodded. "Yeah, why?"

"And Rossi, you're what, fifty-seven?"

Rossi turned to Morgan. "Why?" He asked, with a bit of a warning to it."

"Well, if my math is right that means you were twenty-nine when boy genius here came into the world, same age he's gonna be when that little one arrives. Which makes you…"

"Shut up." Rossi said, cutting off that line of thought.

Spencer grinned at him. "He's right, you know." He turned to the others. "What do you think, Grandpa Dave or Grandpa Rossi?"

"Grandpa Dave." Morgan said, "Definitely."

"You two had to go there." Rossi grumbled.

"Grandpa Dave, I like that." Garcia smiled. She was all lit up in a way she hadn't been since before Emily went away. "Oh, hey, does she have any baby things yet?'

"It's only been a few days." Oh no, he remembered what happened with Henry. "Garcia, do not start spoiling it now. It doesn't even have a gender yet."

"Oh, that just means I have to stick to the gender neutral stuff." She purred back at him. "You just wait."

Now they were all laughing. He took back the CD from Garcia before heading back down to work. Look Newt, he thought as he looked at the silver disk in his hand, you're making the world a better place already.


	73. Chapter 73

**Chapter 72**

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

Spencer looked up as Elizabeth came in the back door, dropped her bag, and made a growling noise of frustration. "What?"

"Paul did not write a Gospel." She growled, hanging up her sweater and coming over to inspect the dinner he had picked up at the market. "Paul wrote _about_ the Gospels. There's a huge difference there and some people simply refuse to understand that."

"Ah, let me guess, you had a meeting this afternoon with a self-taught, self-proclaimed Preacher this afternoon." He chuckled as he unpacked the roast chicken. "Why don't you let Pat take care of them?" Rev. Patrick Lowe was the new Associate Pastor at St. Martin's. Out of the seminary less than a month, living in the deanery down by the National Cathedral and taking the train over every day, he would be here training through next Easter, well past her due date.

"Oh Pat is in no way up to standing those people down yet. He needs time to work up to that." Spencer understood that, for all that Pat might be their age, he seemed so young. She continued her rant, "The Bible is an assemblage of books put together by the early church as the best reference collection for the faith. It was not one single work written by God and faxed down from heaven! And so yes, some parts are more important than others. Paul is not Christ, _Christ_ is Christ. Everything that didn't come out of the mouth of Christ is support structure for what did, _that's_ what's most important." He watched her eyes narrow as he swore she read his mind, or more likely his smile. "And if you start going into historical arguments now you're sleeping on the couch. I am going to go change." With that she turned and headed toward the stairs.

"I have good news when you get back." He called after her as he started building plates.

It wasn't long before she came back downstairs, tie-dye skirt dancing around bare ankles, her collared shirt switched out for a camisole, her hair twisted loosely up. "So what's the good news?"

He reached over and held up a sheet of paper. "I passed my firearms qualification. Granted I only got an 88, but it's still a pass." Ever since he shot Phillip Dowd in that hospital in LA, Hotch had granted him an exemption, but now he didn't need one anymore. He'd practiced with Morgan until his arms would have liked to fall off, but he _had_ passed. The minimum score to pass was 86, so he barely passed, but he passed, just like every other agent. He was finally good enough, and he finally knew it.

"Outstanding!" She beamed at him as she looked over the paper. "I knew you could do it! I am so proud of you." She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I'll have to reward you later."

"Really?" He bent down to kiss her even as he felt the first stirrings of desire. Well, second, the first always seem to come up when he saw her anymore. He could no longer remember a time when he didn't want her, even now, thinking back, there were times at the beginning; he just hadn't realized what he'd been feeling. Now he knew. She purred her ascent and opened under his kiss and if this kept up they might not make it through dinner. "We should probably eat first. How are you two feeling?" He asked as he gently curved his fingers around the firm roundness of her belly. Second trimester, he thought, past the danger of miscarriage, too early for premature birth, kind of a good time to just enjoy it.

"Probably," she took the time to nip his jaw before ever so reluctantly pulling away a little, only to look down and grin as he fondled her belly. She wasn't showing all that much yet, she still fit in into her clothes, but at 16 weeks in her waistbands were starting to get kinda tight. "We're doing quite well today, thank you." She spotted a small pile of packages on the counter. "Oh, what did she do now?" Elizabeth asked.

"I don't know, she told me not to open it with out you." Spencer pushed the small packages from Garcia over and went back to putting diner on the table.

Elizabeth sat at the counter and started opening the small, tissue wrapped package. "Oh, my Lord," she groaned, pulling out the little baby bodysuit. "Where does she find these?" So far they had _My Daddy is a FBI Special Agent_ up in the nursery along with _My Mommy is a Minister_ and _Future Nobel Prize Winner_. She turned it around and held the newest up for Spencer to admire. This one read _Baby Genius_.

"Well, it is gender neutral." Spencer pointed out.

Elizabeth just laughed and opened up the second package. "Ohhh!" Inside was a pair of tiny baby booties, in the black and white style of Chuck Converse sneakers.

Even Spencer had to grin over those. "Now she just needs to make some saddle shoes."

"You can buy baby saddle shoes. I have considered baby saddle shoes." Elizabeth admitted. The third package contained two skeins of a fine yarn that also had her ohhh-ing. "She found it! And it's the right dye lot too! That woman is a shopping wonder!"

"This is true." Garcia surely knew how to shop. "Is that what you're going to be doing after supper?"

"Before we go on to other things."

* * *

After supper found them in the library having a quiet evening; Elizabeth was sitting on the naughty couch with her legs up on one ottoman, quite contentedly knitting away at some bit of lace. Spencer was stretched out on said couch, doing some reading for work and using her lap as a pillow and the other ottoman at the far end to give him enough length for his legs. Well, he was using some of her lap for a pillow; he was resting his temple up against that firm rise that was slowly taking up more space.

He was about ten pages into the file, reading an account of a rather grisly murder in a suburb of Boston when he felt it. A little flutter that twitched under his temple. At first he barely noticed, but then it happened again. He looked up at Elizabeth. "Did you feel that?"

"You mean the cob salad I had for lunch?" She asked him.

"Um, I don't think that was your lunch." He reached up and rather firmly pressed his fingers against that spot. Once again he felt that distinct fluttering movement. "I remember when JJ was pregnant and that's kinda what it felt like."

"You mean that's the baby?" Now he had her full attention. Her eyes were full of wonder as she gently placed her hand over that spot, feeling it more from the inside than out. "Oh wow, hey Newt."

As much as he was enchanted by the look in her eyes just then, Spencer reached over and put a pillow between him and her belly. "What?" She asked.

"_Aliens_," he replied with a shudder. A moving human being inside another human being is still the creepiest thing ever.

She laughed at him for a while.

* * *

He was gentle with her that night, gentle and slow, a melting together as they had every time since they found out that there were three in their bed. But gentle and slow didn't make it any less fulfilling, any less satisfying. Better than any drug, he thought as the shudders slowed and he buried his face in her hair, better than anything. I'm addicted to loving this woman. When it was over he rolled over next to her and pulled her into his arms, her back to his front, skin to skin still. She took up more space there, felt somehow softer and warmer than she used to. Ripe, he thought, or ripening. Holy crap, we made a baby.

"Can I ask you something?" She murmured.

"Of course," he replied.

"How come you don't go as deep as you used to? Not that I'm complaining, but that always did feel wonderful and the doctor did say it was okay."

He placed a gentle kiss on the curve of her ear. "It feels like it would be disrespectful, almost, to Newt."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's like it's asleep in there, like that's its bedroom. I don't want to knock on the door and wake it up because Mommy and Daddy are having sex."

She half rolled to look at him, "Seriously?"

He considered a moment. "Partially, but it also feels too sacred for mere humans to get that close. People shouldn't get that close to miracles."

She looked at him for a long moment, then rolled back over and pulled his arms around her growing belly. "I agree."

* * *

For some reason sleep didn't come quite easily that night for him. After her breathing became regular and easy Spencer slid out of their bed, puttered around the room in the dim light of the lamp on the mantle, quietly re-packed his go-bag, finally ended up in the window seat with a copy of Proust in his lap. Not his mother's, but similar. Not that he needed to have it to read, it was just an excuse to sit and watch her a while.

His wife.

Their child.

I never thought this would happen, he thought. I was always the freak who didn't deserve a companion, the future crazy one who ought never father children, too different for normal dreams. And yet here it is. Here it is after all.

He took a deep breath and turned out the light at last.

* * *

Outside in the street, a man in a car made note of the time.

* * *

.

* * *

**A note about the timing:** The goal of this story was always to go from episode 6:12 "Corazon" to episode 6:18 "Lauren" before going totally AU. Now that that has happened I think it's about time I figure out the timeline, and apologize for the gaping errors.

In order for this story to work the following events have to happen on these dates.

October 6-8, 2009 = episode 6:12 "Corazon"

October 13-15, 2009 = episode 6:13 "The Thirteenth Step"

October 17th, 2009 = Morgan takes Reid to church for the first time (AU)

October 20-21, 2009 = Team catches satanist teen pack in Frisco, CO (AU)

_October 30-31, 2009 = episode 6:06 "Devil's Night" (Which is not in this story and totally out of order. Had I stop to do the math I might have worked it in here)_

November 3 - 6th, 2009 = Spencer meets Elizabeth, the team has a case involving missing children, and Spencer and Elizabeth have their first and second dates. (AU)

November 8 -13th, 2009 = Sometime in this week the team takes the case in Youngstown, OH (AU)

November 14th, 2009 = Northwest Community Church is destroyed by Arson (AU)

November 15th, 2009 = Spencer finds out that Elizabeth is a minister (AU)

November 17th, 2009 = Elizabeth and Nanny head out to Bleeker Farm to help two girls (AU), the team leaves for LA for episode 6:14 "Sense Memory"

November 17-19th, 2009 = episode 6:14 "Sense Memory"

November 21, 2009 = Spencer attends St. Martin's for the first time (AU)

November 22, 2009 = Morgan comes by the Rectory and Elizabeth admits to being related to Robert Thorne (AU), Spencer spends the afternoon in the archives (AU)

November 24-25, 2009 = episode 6:15 "Today I do" _ (Yes, left Thanksgiving out too)_

November 29th, 2009 = Spencer and Morgan head out to Bleeker Farm and meet the Underground Railroad crew (AU)

November 30th, 2009 = Spencer has his first off-the-books appointment with Dr. Judith Messer. (AU)

December 5th, 2009 = Mass is said at Mt. Martin's in memory of Tobias Hankle (AU)

January 13-14th, 2010 = episode 6:16 "Coda"

January 17-20th, 2010 = Case out in Arkansas where Spencer meets Thorne (AU)

January 31st, 2010 = Team leaves for Oregon, Spencer and Seaver caught by Unsub (AU)

February 2nd, 2010 = Spencer and Seaver rescued, receive medical care, are put on 6 weeks medical leave (AU)

March 14 - 15th, 2010 = Spencer and Seaver are cleared to return to desk duty(AU)

March 16-17th, 2010 = episodes 6:17 "Valhalla" and 6:18 "Lauren"

March 17th, 2010 = Emily Prentiss "dies" according to the date on her tombstone

March 18th, 2010 = In the early morning hours Emily Prentiss is pronounced "dead" on the table, Spencer and Elizabeth elope and are married just before midnight (AU)

March 19th, 2010 = Baby Newt is conceived, Harry says the blessing over Spencer and Elizabeth's marriage (AU) _(I messed up the dates here as well, I said it was a Sunday which should have been the 20th. Oh well)_

March 21st, 2010 = Emily's funeral. (AU)

March 22nd, 2010 = Spencer confesses to Hotch that he found out (AU)

April 13th, 2010 = Spencer and Emily find out that Newt is on the way (AU)

June 24th, 2010 = Spencer passes his firearms qualification, Spencer and Emily feel the baby move for the first time. (AU)

July 25th, 2010 =Spencer and Elizabeth go in for their 20 week Ultrasound . _(Next chapter)_ (AU)

Now that that's worked out I'll start adding dates when appropriate. My apologies to anyone who read this before I pulled out the spoilers.


	74. Chapter 74

**Chapter 73**

**FBI Academy**

**Quantico VA**

**Spencer**

I know the history of this, Spencer thought, as he worked his way through the stretching routine Morgan had taught him. The US Marines who designed the obstacle course used yellow bricks to mark the trail from our training center to their course. Soon the FBI agents began referring to it as the Yellow Brick Road. Now the Wizard of Oz references abound. But I still wonder why it started to begin with. Why not just call it the Obstacle Course Trail?

The Yellow Brick Road test was considered the pinnacle of physical training at the FBI academy. In involved a roughly 6 mile run over rough terrain out and back, and in the middle three miles of obstacle course belonging to the US Marine Corps Officer Training program who occupied the space next door to the FBI for a total of nine miles. There was climbing a steep hill using ropes, there was crawling under barbed wire, there was going over walls and breaking through doors, there were problems to solve, there was a bear trap to avoid and barbed wire to defeat. It was one of the hardest physical tests in the country. Seaver had done it, and done well for a cadet. Emily had done it, understandable now given her CIA background. Morgan had a near perfect score. Hotch had done it back when he first joined the FBI. Rossi had done it before they put the yellow bricks down. Out of everyone in the BAU he was the only one who had not completed the course. Over the nine months, roughly, ever since they got back from Spokane he had trained little by little, always sparing his knee, taking on one obstacle at a time. Now, in the dawn light of what promised to be a hot late July day it was just him and the evaluator and Morgan going along for moral support.

"You know this is timed, loosely." Morgan reminded him. "We can't spend all day out here."

"No, we can't." Spencer replied. "Elizabeth has a doctor's appointment this afternoon. I have to be there."

Morgan turned and looked at him. "You scheduled her appointment for the same day as this?"

"I had to. She has to have that ultrasound this week and this is the only day I have off." Spencer bent over to tighten up the large brace that surrounded and stabilized his knee, feeling the comforting pressure holding everything in place. "Besides, even if I can't do this, I'll have some good news for dinner tonight."

"Hey, there is no can't here. You can do this." Morgan looked over at the evaluator, who nodded his readiness. "You ready?"

Spencer stood up and looked down the trail. As Dr. Messer had told him, in his mind he conjured up every jeering voice from his past, every one from Trent Hartman calling him four letter nicknames to his father clucking over his not being able to catch a ball to Strauss raising her well-manicured eyebrow at his list of exemptions. Even his Mother, who insisted all jocks were unworthy Neanderthals. That may well be Mother, he thought, but this soon to be Neanderthal will go home tonight and read your grandchild _Tristam und Isolda_ in the German, which ought to disprove that opinion.

The rest of them could just go to hell. He's lost out on so much because they forced him into the mould of the fragile and helpless. He'd already mourned those losses, it was time to move on.

"Yeah, I'm ready." He said to Morgan.

* * *

After it was all over Spencer debated puking, but he rather didn't think he had the energy for it.

He was filthy. Covered in sweat and dirt and soaked in muddy water from the crawls under the barbed wire. His bad knee felt weak and swollen and his good knee had been well and truly skinned on the climb up the mountain. He was hot and tired and he swore he was getting a stitch in no less than six major muscle groups. All he really wanted to do was lie down on the cool grass and wait for the world to stop spinning.

But he had done it. He completed every obstacle. Now he just had to see if he did them all right, and in a decent amount of time.

They walked the last few yards as he tried to catch his breath. As they came around the last corner he started muttering breathless curses.

"What?" Morgan panted.

"I said I didn't want anyone here." Spencer replied. "If I don't pass this I didn't want anyone to know."

"Yeah, like that was going to keep those two away." Morgan chuckled and headed over to the bench in the shade where Garcia and Elizabeth were waiting and knitting.

As Spencer staggered in that direction and bent over, resting against his legs a moment, he had to reflect on how beautiful Elizabeth looked as she worked on her own physical challenge. At twenty weeks and twelve pounds heaver than when she started she was beginning to look like she swallowed a beach ball. But her figure had grown more voluptuous along with it and she had that glow about her that bespoke a happy, healthy pregnancy. Sitting there in the dappled light in a pale blue sundress, her curls loose around her shoulders, she was impossibly beautiful.

"Okay, you do not look like a Reverend without the uniform." Morgan had to say to her.

"You know, you can only get clerical maternity shirts in black." Elizabeth replied. "Unless I have to I am not going there in DC in July."

"Well, I can't blame you for that. Excuse me." Morgan went off to confer with the evaluator.

"I didn't want you to come out here." Spencer murmured to her as he finally got up the strength to wobble over to the bluebird and the peacock and start draining bottles of water.

"Why on earth not?" She asked.

"I didn't want you to see me fail." He admitted, feeling rather sheepish.

She just shook her head at him. "Mmm-mmm, better or worse, remember." She went back to her knitting as they waited.

"Hey pretty boy." Morgan called over after forever. "I can't say it's the highest score in the department, but you passed."

It took a very long moment for that to sink in. "Really?" Spencer's legs miraculously tightened up as he went over to check the evaluator's notes. Morgan knew him, might have cut him some slack for his knee or just out of kindness. But the evaluator from the Academy didn't know him from Adam, and wouldn't give him an inch. And yet according to said evaluator's score… "I passed."

Morgan grinned at him as Elizabeth and Garcia both cheered him on a little. "You know what this means, right?"

Okay, now Spencer was concerned. "No."

"After breakfast."

* * *

Granted it was more like Elevenses, but after they cleaned up Garcia and Elizabeth joined the two men in the cafeteria, where the cadets got to watch the tallest, skinniest Agent they ever saw try to eat half of it. When they had finished refueling, for that was the only way it could be described, Morgan insisted they head back to the office.

"You know, I did take today off." Spencer insisted.

"Just for a few minutes." Morgan said.

Once back at the BAU bullpen he and Garcia split up, leaving Spencer and Elizabeth at his desk for a few. "So, have you decided if you want to know what the sex is yet?" Spencer asked her.

"No, I haven't." Elizabeth replied. "Have you?"

Spencer shook his head. "No, but I…" He was interrupted when he realized that Chief Strauss was coming over to his desk. Oh crap, he thought, now what? And with Elizabeth here too.

"Dr. Reid." Chief Strauss said in that stern voice of hers, stopping at the edge of the appropriate distance, looking more like she'd tasted something bitter than usual. "Agent Morgan tells me you completed the Physical Challenge Course this morning."

"Um, yes Ma'am, I did."

"Well, I must say I'm….surprised. But it is my…pleasure to present you with this plaque to memorialize the occasion." The plague in question was the traditional one, with a yellow brick attached to it. Morgan, Rossi and Hotch all had them up in their offices. Emily's was now packed in a box in a storage unit in DC. Not a clue where Seaver kept hers. "Congratulations." Strauss handed him the plaque to a general round of applause, glared at them all, and then walked away.

Yes, he was a little shocked.

Once she was gone the rest of the team came down to give him the traditional pat on the back. "Family dinner tonight at Emerald Dragon to celebrate." Garcia reminded everyone before they moved off.

"Okay, but we have something to do first." Elizabeth said, checking her watch and tugging Spencer on.

Morgan walked with them to the elevators. "You know, I was always afraid that Strauss could use any excuse to fire me or at least transfer me to a teaching slot at the Academy because I wasn't as good as the other agents." Spencer finally admitted to him.

"Yeah, well, now you know better, and so does she, so you can stop being scared of her." Morgan pointed out. "I'll see you two tonight."

**Washington Medical Center**

**Family Birth Center**

**Washington DC**

"I do wish they would find an easier way of doing this." Elizabeth grumped as she lay back on the table and the technician spread the thick, cold gel over her abdomen, right above the hairline.

Spencer thought about pointing out the relative safety of the ultrasound procedure, how it was an excellent diagnostic tool, the number of lives saved each year. But he realized she was only grumpy because in order to visualize the uterus the bladder had to be expanded, which meant it had to be stretched full, and she had already been complaining about it being the size of a tea cup these days. He considered it a sign of wisdom when he held his tongue.

Unlike previous visits this one was easy to understand. He got down to her level, the better to see the screen, and so they were temple to temple as the tech pointed out a tiny nose, a miniscule ear, impossibly small, waving fingers. "So, do you want to know if it's a boy or a girl?"

"Well…" Elizabeth said.

"Um…" Spencer said.

Then Newt rolled over and decided the issue for them.

**Emerald Dragon Restaurant**

**Washington DC**

"There you are!" Garcia called out when they finally arrived. Tonight it was Garcia and Kevin, Morgan and Rossi, Will and JJ and Henry, Hotch and Jessica and Jack, and Ashley Seaver. Spencer and Elizabeth had stopped at home so she could clean up and change, and so they could pick up Reverend Patrick whom, they knew, would spend much of the evening having a quiet conversation with Seaver.

Hey, why not.

"So, what did the doctor say?" JJ asked as they sat down.

"She said everything looks normal and healthy." Elizabeth told her. Spencer held back, figuring the comparing of notes would be starting up any minute. Not something he wanted to get into, ever.

"And what about Newt?" Garcia wanted to know.

"Actually…" Elizabeth said as the entire table quieted and waited. She and Spencer looked at each other a moment and he gave the smallest nod. "…Sophia Marie is doing just fine too."

"A girl?" Garcia crowed. "Sophie! Yes! Little pink ruffles here we come!"

As four men around the room watched the party got underway.


	75. Chapter 75

**Chapter 74**

**BAU headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

**Spencer**

"All right my darlings." Garcia sang out. "Feast your eyes on the latest round of ick. Dateline Greenwood, Mississippi."

Spencer had to actually turn and focus on the screen and on the files she had put in front of him. He had been woolgathering, as his mother used to say, thinking back to that morning. They had gotten an agreed upon late start, what with Hotch in one meeting and Morgan having a class, just an hour but he had made good use of it. Elizabeth no longer had that Morning Prayer service, so she had come back to bed after her shower, just to savor the cool before the heat of the late August day. She'd snuggled back up against him, her backside in his lap, which finally pulled him from sleep. He'd woken as most men do, and then one thing led to another and when they were done she needed another shower, not that she minded at all. And that whole back to front position worked so much better now that she was all the way up at 25 weeks and growing ever larger. It was kind of disturbing to realize that Sophie could survive out here now, outside of her safe cocoon, if she truly had to, but even with that he didn't want to "wake" her. So the gentler, slow ways were better, at least in his opinion. In the end he'd left to the sight of her glowing and happy after her second shower, sitting on the back porch with her doctor-approved decaf tea in her sundress, looking over her notes for herself and Pat for the day, waving good-bye…he jumped a little as Morgan gave him a sharp kick in the ankle to get him to Pay Attention.

"So the first victim went missing four weeks ago, the second two week ago, and the third three days ago." Hotch was asking.

"Yes, but the first showed up after the second because the body of the first was weighed down and dumped in a lake." Garcia said.

On the board were pictures of three athletes from Mississippi Valley State University, three healthy, athletic, young black men. Also on the board were their bodies which had been…."Garcia," Spencer asked, noticing the amount of blood and the pattern of the damage "were they flensed before or after death?"

Seaver looked over at him, "Flensed."

"Skinned," Spencer told her, "usually in very thin layers; it's a technique that was popular in the whaling industry to preserve the valuable blubber just beneath the skin. It's kind of hard to tell at first if they died of blood loss or shock, but if you look there…and there…" He pointed to the pictures. "You can see signs of healing. But that…and that… and that…look like signs of infection, I'm wondering if that's what killed them."

"And an apple for the teacher, the coroner said that it's hard to definitely tell the cause of death, but septic shock is highly likely." Garcia confirmed it.

"And this guy is moving faster." Morgan commented. "It looks like the last victim died only four days before he picked up his next one."

"Which means this victim only has three days left, and is being injured as we speak," Hotch looked at the team; "Wheels up in thirty."

**Greenwood Police Department**

**Greenwood, MS**

Spencer had hit the wall of bone weary again. Weighing down the body usually meant that the killer knew the victim, was trying to hide the evidence. But there was no indication that the victim, Jeffery Turner, knew anyone who was behaving strangely. And he and the other two victims all had, if anything, too much in common, they all went to Mississippi Valley State University, they were all heavily involved in athletics. So why weigh down Jeffery and not the other one? And yet this killer appeared organized, from the weighing to the near impossibility of finding the actual starting point of the crimes, no one knew where the men had disappeared from, to the precision of the crime, to his ability to keep them alive for days, so he had to have weighed down the first one for a reason.

Damn, they were missing something.

All right, he thought, time for a comfort break. He excused himself for five minutes and as he had so often in the preceding months, stepped outside the back door of the station and pulled out his phone. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," he could hear the smile in Elizabeth's voice so clearly. "So how's Itta Bena?"

"Hot and sticky, why this had to happen in late August is beyond me. The station is nice though, they have AC. Garcia called you?"

"Yep, told me not to expect you home for supper."

"Not to worry, I'll catch up on leftovers. How are you? How are both of you?"

"I think Miss Sophie is either going to be a soccer player or a tap dancer, she will not settle in for a nap. " He heard her low laughter and could picture her hands lightly caressing the rise of her stomach. "We're just fine. Now let me guess, you're next question is going to be about my having a poetry book handy, which is why I brought it back to the office with me."

"Am I that predictable?" Spencer leaned back against the cool bricks and looked up at the twilight. "Wait, you're still at work?"

"Back at work, we have an adult catechism class in a little bit. Pat's going to be covering them, but the senior pastor has to show up for the first one. Does anyone else know how much you like to have someone read to you?"

"Only my Mom."

"Ah. Close enough to being our big secret.

_TAKE heed of loving me ;  
At least remember, I forbade it thee ;  
Not that I shall repair my unthrifty waste  
Of breath and blood, upon thy sighs and tears,  
By being to thee then what to me thou wast ;  
But so great joy our life at once outwears.  
Then, lest thy love by my death frustrate be,  
If thou love me, take heed of loving me. _

_Take heed of hating me,  
Or too much triumph in the victory ;  
Not that I shall be mine own officer,  
And hate with hate again retaliate ;  
But thou wilt lose the style of conqueror,  
If I, thy conquest, perish by thy hate.  
Then, lest my being nothing lessen thee,  
If thou hate me, take heed of hating me._

_Yet love and hate me too ;  
So these extremes shall ne'er their office do ;  
Love me, that I may die the gentler way ;  
Hate me, because thy love's too great for me ;  
Or let these two, themselves, not me, decay ;  
So shall I live thy stage, not triumph be.  
Lest thou thy love and hate, and me undo,  
O let me live, yet love and hate me too. "_

Spencer had closed his eyes, the better to listen, and sighed. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

"Oh, I know how much you love me." Elizabeth said. "The evidence of that just kicked me in the ribs."

"Hey Reid!" That was Morgan's voice, coming from the door.

"I have to go. I do love you." Spencer said.

"I love you too."

* * *

They had found the third victim, lying in an alleyway not far from the university. It was rather thought that he wasn't going to make it. More to the point, they hoped he wasn't going to make it, it would be kinder.

Now they were going from building to building, asking if anyone had seen anything. Given their chronic case of short handedness Morgan was taking his side with Will Ben, the detective in charge from the local PD. "Are all your cases this creepy?" He asked as they turned down another alley.

"We get the creepy ones." Morgan agreed, as they passed the dumpster. "But it feels better getting these monsters off the streets."

"Does that make it worth it?"

"It does for me. Kinda makes it feel like you're working for the right side, know what I mean?"

"Yeah, but I'll still stick to the local stuff, thanks."

Morgan chuckled a little, and then movement caught his eye. There was some kind of a shadow of something, down at the end, where the dumpsters were clustered more thickly. "What is that?"

"I don't know." Will replied, as both men drew their guns and carefully moved forward.

They took a few cautious steps forward as something rattled a can in the dark. "FBI," Morgan called out. "Come out of there. Keep your hands where I can see them." No reply.

"I should call this in." Will said, as he moved for his radio.

No, Morgan wanted to say, it's just a shadow. But part of him was screaming that it was a shadow! It was a shadow! It was a…

**St. Martin's Episcopal Church**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Elizabeth**

Thank goodness that was over. It wasn't just that it was too blinking hot for this sort of thing, but the first class always ran so long. It was the Q and A afterward that did it, when everyone was getting to know each other and no one was listening so she had to answer the same question over and over. But they were all good people; they were going to be a good addition to the extended family that was her parish.

Now, thank goodness, she was heading home. She gathered up her books and papers and locked up behind her, Pat having already hopped on his bike to head for the Metro. She started walking across the street, very nearly the world's shortest commute. Now who in their right mind is having a party, she though when she spotted the caterer's van parked in front of the rectory. How could anyone plan anything more complicated than a barbecue in this heat? Well, some of the universities had homes/offices nearby, sometimes they had parties, and sometimes the staff couldn't park closer. They had AC, that had to be why.

Let's see, she thought, I'll throw some yoghurt in the blender, some of those berries, some fruit juice, ice, honey, hit liquefy, then take the whole thing upstairs and get myself into a cool bath. "What do you think Sophie?" She quietly asked that dancing bulge in her belly as she crossed the street behind the van…

* * *

.

* * *

Poem is "The Prohibition" by John Donne. Written prior to 1635 and no longer under copyright


	76. Chapter 76

**Chapter 75**

**Greenwood Police Station**

**Grenwood, MS**

**Spencer**

The world stopped.

The world had _stopped_.

"What do you mean Morgan isn't answering his phone?" Spencer had asked Hotch. The thought of Morgan being out of contact was utterly ludicrous. Morgan was never out of touch, not ever.

Well, once, in LA.

Oh no.

Even if they couldn't find him Garcia always could. But now their oracle Goddess was edging toward hysterical. "I'm telling you, he's not answering and his GPS isn't moving. Something is very, very wrong would you PLEASE go check on him or something. Like, now!"

They all converged on Morgan's last known position, and started looking.

Then they found his cell phone under a dumpster.

The world stopped.

**Somewhere else**

**Greenwood, MS**

**Morgan**

His head hurt.

No, everything hurt.

It took him a few to get his eyes open. And even then he saw nothing but blackness.

It took him a few more to realize that it was because it was dark in here, wherever here was.

Morgan finally was able to actually focus. He guessed he had a mild concussion, more than a few bumps and bruises, nothing more. After a few minutes more he realized he was sitting in some kind of a maintenance tunnel, lots of pipes and wires attached to the walls around him. His hands were cuffed to a pipe above him and his gun, shoes and socks were missing. He could make all this out by the vague glow coming from around the corner and down another tunnel.

There was no way this could be good.

After a few moments he heard a groaning noise coming from behind him. When his heart rate returned to normal he realized it was another person, maybe another victim. "Who's there?' He asked, not in a whisper, but in a low, calm voice. Fake it until you get there, he thought.

"Agent Morgan?"

It took him a moment to place the voice. Detective Will Ben. "Yeah, I think we know how the Unsub subdues his victims now." Morgan said.

"Yeah, he sneaks up behind him and clubs them with a pipe. Man, my head hurts."

"No kidding. All right, we know it's going to be an all out search, we just need to hold on until the team gets here." Is this how Reid felt, Morgan wondered, all those times? This helpless, this scared? In LA we had a clue, an idea, and a working profile on Billie Flynn to start with. This is completely new, I have nothing. How do I get Will through with me? How the hell does that kid have this happen to him as often as he does, how does he feel like this as often as he has and still come in to work the next day? How the hell did he cope with this? How do I cope with this?

"I don't mind telling you, I am terrified." Will admitted.

"We're going to be all right." Morgan said. "We just have to hang on a little while."

**Back Alley**

**Greenwood, MS**

**Spencer**

It was impossible.

People could not vanish into thin air.

Morgan and Detective Ben had been canvassing this end of the street. They got to that house there, but not that house there. And in between the two was an alleyway, which was the most logical place to look. And so they had looked there and they had found two guns there and yet there was no trace of anyone coming or going anywhere.

He walked down the alley in the bright, cool light of the morning. He and Seaver were taking a look to see if they could come up with anything. Fresh eyes Rossi had said, which Spencer was quite sure did not refer to him.

No matter. Morgan was missing. Nothing else mattered. "What I don't understand is why the Unsub threw away Morgan's phone and not Detective Ben's."

""I don't…wait." Seaver stepped over to where something glittered in the grass in the morning sun. "Found it, I think."

"Oh." Spencer signaled for the forensics team to come check. It might be someone else's old, shattered phone, but somehow he didn't think so. "So the Unsub shattered the phone, probably because Ben was on it at the time. He tosses Morgan's so it can't be traced. But how did he subdue them?"

"I don't know." Seaver replied. "They're both big, athletic men."

"Unless something distracted them, maybe; it looks like there are bits of phone in the wood trim of the building here. Okay, you're Morgan, I'm Ben. If I stand here, close to where the phone hit the wall and you take a few steps closer to the end of the alley…"

"And if I have my gun out and am covering something." Seaver mimed the action. "Ben was calling in, maybe for back up?"

"And if I had a club of some kind, a pipe or a bat, then I could come up behind them, take out Detective Ben, then turn, take out Morgan's gun, and catch him over the head on the backswing." Spencer walked through those actions. "This would mean whatever distracted them, whatever Morgan was aiming for, didn't actually do anything involved in taking them down."

"So what was it?"

"I don't know." Spencer mimed the movements a few more times. "So if he swung this way, then you would expect Morgan's gun to land right at that forensic marker, was that his?"

Seaver checked her notes. "Yes, it was. And if Detective Ben had been holding his gun one handed while holding the phone with the other, his should have landed right about marker number 2. Then he smashes Detective Ben's phone here at marker number 4, pulls Morgan's from his pocket and tosses it, which corresponds with marker number 3 and then what, leaves them to go get his car?"

"I don't know." Spencer admitted. "He couldn't have carried them both. Maybe him and his partner each took one?"

"Both men weighed over two-fifty, all of it muscle. The unsub and his partner would have had to be big guys, they wouldn't have been able to sneak up, and then why not have the partner take out Morgan?"

"Good points," Spencer nodded to her. "Okay, maybe the car was here already?"

"The neighbors said they haven't seen a car in here in days. And how would they know Morgan and the detective would be in this alley?"

"No, they would have had to follow them. And then how did the partner get ahead of them? But if there isn't a partner then the unsub would have had to leave them here, unguarded, while he went for his car." Spencer shook his head as the fear settled into his stomach. His big brother was missing, and a very real part of him really wanted to panic. "None of this makes sense."

**Somewhere else**

**Greenwood, MS**

**Morgan**

After some unknown amount of time they heard a sound coming from the other tunnel. After a few minutes what Morgan supposed was the Unsub came into view. He couldn't see the man's face, it was hidden in silhouette, but he moved wrong. No better way to describe it, just wrong.

"Hey. Hey. All right, what's your name?" Get him talking, Morgan thought. Gideon always said a profile was our best weapon. Get him talking, get some intel. "Hey, I'm Morgan; this is Will, what's your name?" The tunnel was just wide enough for the Unsub to move past him without Morgan being able to kick. He was muttering to himself, whispering in a language that wasn't English, might not be anything, that sounded impossibly wrong. "Hey, come on man, what's your name?"

Chuckling lightly, muttering to himself, the Unsub turned and moved past him down the dark tunnel. "Hey! Hey! What the hell!" Morgan heard Will shouting. "Hey! HEY!" Then there was the sound of something hard hitting flesh and bone.

"Hey! Hey! Leave him alone! You want someone, take me! All right, take me!" Morgan yelled after him. There was no reply, just the sound of a body being dragged down the tunnel and that constant muttering.

Morgan sat there in the near dark, twisting and turning until he couldn't feel his hands, all he could feel was the blood starting to run down his wrists, but it was no use. He couldn't get free.

The Lord is my Shepherd, he thought, I shall not want.

After a while he heard Will start to scream.

* * *

.

* * *

**Personal note:** Let this be a lesson learned, always keep your virus protection updated.


	77. Chapter 77

**Chapter 76**

**Greenwood Police Station**

**Greenwood , MS**

**Spencer**

"We've got dogs coming in from the State Police." The head of the department was telling Hotch. "They should be here in a few hours."

"I don't want to wait a few hours." Hotch's calm voice barely concealed his anger and frustration. "I want to go house to house now."

The police chief sighed. "I know you do, I'd want to do the same if it were one of my men. But there's no call for that yet and the judge won't allow it."

Spencer tuned out the rest of the conversation. Hotch was upset, they were all upset. Morgan was one of the great rocks of the team, he never went missing. Well, in LA, and they all knew how well that had gone over. What if he doesn't come back, Spencer thought, what if he dies out there? It would be like Emily dying, only worse because she's someplace wonderful like Paris or Rome and just not coming back. Morgan would really be gone? What would I do, he thought, what will I do? You will go home and rest on Elizabeth's shoulder, he realized. You will wrap yourself in your wife and your daughter and you will rest in the comfort of a life away from this job. And there you will be free to mourn your brother in the manner he deserves and raise your children to remember his story so he will never be forgotten. And that is meager and not nearly enough.

"It's just not possible." Seaver said for the umpteenth time. "A person can't disappear into thin air."

"I know that." Spencer muttered to her. He was cranky and short with her, and immediately regretted it.

"You know what this reminds me of?"

"No."

"This horror movie where the assorted screaming teens get sucked down into hell; it's the same idea, they're gone without a trace just like this."

Spencer stood there, staring at her for a long moment as the Hammer of Knowing whacked him between the eyes.

"What?" Seaver asked him.

He ignored the question and lunged for the phone, lucky number seven. "Garcia?" He asked the oracle.

"Have you found him?" She all but screamed it, clearly wired, almost to tears. "Please tell me you found him."

"Not yet." Spencer confessed. "But I have an idea. I need another map."

**Somewhere else**

**Greenwood, MS**

**Morgan**

After a time, Will stopped screaming. It didn't take long for Morgan to realize that that was worse. That was so very much worse.

He heard the unsub slouching along the tunnel toward him, intent on some strange purpose. Morgan couldn't even think of what to say to start chipping at this one's profile. He was too angry and too scared to think straight. That's a problem, some dim part of him thought, this one's getting to you. "Just going to walk past me?" Morgan asked the unsub as he slouched by. "Not going to say anything? Hey! Hey!"

The unsub stopped.

There, in the cool, damp dark, Morgan heard him breathing.

He felt something dry and rough grab his ankle and lift it into the air.

He yelled out, a sound that could only mean _stop!_

He heard the unsub sniff.

He felt a cold, nimble tongue lick his ankle.

_Licked_.

He felt the unsub drop his ankle and heard him shuffle off down the tunnel.

Now what the hell was that about, Morgan wondered? What the hell?

**Back Alley**

**Greenwood, MS**

**Spencer**

"Are you sure about this?" Seaver asked.

"No." Spencer replied. "That's why we're here looking. Come on." When you thought about it, it really was the only thing that made sense. The unsub hadn't left them while he went for a car, he hadn't parked here ahead of them, and none of his actions indicated a partner. One man could not have carried both Morgan and Detective Ben out of the alley. And they couldn't fly.

But they could drop.

Spencer manhandled the utility tool and pulled up the manhole cover in the middle of the alley. There he found the expected ladder going down. He lay on his belly and used a flashlight to have a close look at the hole. "Yes. There are bits of denim scraped off at the lip. And what might be hair."

"How far do you think they fell?" Seaver asked.

Spencer peered down into the tunnel, "Eight feet, probably less. Assuming they were out cold and it looks like there some dirt or something built up down there, they could have landed without major injury."

"What are you two doing?" Rossi asked from behind them.

Spencer looked up and around as Rossi and Hotch walked up the alley. "I figured out what all the locations where the victims were taken had in common. They all have access to the service tunnel system."

"The service tunnel system?" Rossi asked.

"Yes. Under pretty much any American downtown of any respectable size is an underground tunnel network of storm drains, sewer drains, utility right of ways, pipelines, the infrastructure underground is enormous. Back in the early-to-middle twentieth century the utility companies didn't have remote robots to examine and repair the pipes like they do now, and a lot of small- to mid-sized communities haven't had the money to upgrade since then, so they're still working with a system designed to accommodate grown men."

"You think they're down there?"

Spencer pointed to the bits of scraped jeans on the edge of the tunnel. "I think he knocked them out cold, pushed them down and dragged them away at his leisure."

"All right, we'll go get the Chief, start a search down there." Hotch said.

"Now hold on." Rossi said, stopping him. "We don't want to spook him, according to what we have so far this guy will kill and bolt if we do. And a bunch of cops, intent on revenge, will do just that."

"So what do you suggest?" Hotch asked.

"We go down there in a small, quiet group, just the four of us at first, and evaluate the situation."

Hotch sighed, "All right."

* * *

The term creepy didn't even begin to cover what it was like down here. Dark and damp, tunnels lined with all sorts of utility conduits, pipes, cables, bugs, rats and everything else you could think of for a below grade tunnel. Once down here they had split up, Hotch and Rossi one way, him and Seaver the other. Following the map Garcia had sent him he and Seaver went east, the other men went west.

"So this unsub could travel all over town and never go above ground?" Seaver asked him, very quietly.

Spencer nodded, making the shadows chase each other along the curved walls. "At least through the downtown core area; it's entirely possible he could even come up inside businesses like the local market. He could have been down here for months if not years."

"Yeah, but why would he do that?"

Just then they turned the corner. And stopped.

"Because his Master told him to," Spencer told her.

They had found the unsub's home, or at least his sleeping area. There was a pallet at the far end, an unlit lantern, some books, a few cans of food.

And skin.

Hanging from the walls were sheets of human skin, each thin enough to dry even in this slightly damp environment. Each one was in a different state of desiccation. Spencer stepped closer to what looked like a desk. "It looks like he was making a book."

"A what?" Seaver asked, her eyes alive with horror.

"A book, a…testament of the devil;" without touching he pointed to the demonic symbols painted on the neatly trimmed sheets in white. "Using white explains the need for darker skin tones, and using it for paper explains the need for larger, athletic men."

"Does it?"

"More healthy, fine grained skin to work with. But why white?"

Seaver reached over and gingerly picked up one of the dozen or so identical white pens on the desktop. "I worked for a summer in a craft store back in my undergrad days. See how there are multiple layers of price tags and then the last one is marked through?" Spencer nodded. "That means this was taken off the shelves after it just didn't sell. It was probably reported to the manufacturer as a write-off and listed as destroyed, and then they just threw the whole supply away." She swallowed her terror and revulsion. "Does this mean that the unsub chose his victims based on the color of his ink supply?"

Spencer looked around and nodded. "He didn't want to waste the pens." He jerked his head in the direction of the main tunnel. "Let's keep looking."

Back down they went, past one off-shoot tunnel and then a second. "Do you hear that?" Seaver asked. Spencer shook his head. She went ahead a little, following the sound.

The next off-shoot was a small connecting tunnel which lead to an open door into what looked like an unused sub-basement. There they found a table in the dark, a table with the shape of a man on it. And the sound was blood dripping onto the concrete floor….

For a long moment neither of them wanted to look. No, Spencer thought, I must. I owe him so much and more. He stepped forward, turned on his light…and found Detective Will Ben on the table. The injured man groaned as the light hit his eyes. He immediately took a pulse even as every particle of him screamed in relief. "He's alive." He told Seaver, quick and quiet. "Barely, I think he's going in to shock." Never split up, he thought, never split up, this is what happened when Tobias…. "Look, I know you can do this. Get him up those stairs to street level and call for help."

"What are you going to do?" Seaver asked as she helped Spencer get the Detective around and off the table. He was clearly in too much pain to even speak, but he was still alive, still working with them, and if either of them could get him up the stairs it was Seaver, Spencer thought. I passed my physical tests, but she aced hers.

"I'm going to keep looking for Morgan. He has to be nearby." He shook off her protests. "I can't leave him here, not for a moment longer than I have to. He would keep looking for me. Now go." Once he had her moving, once she was safely up the stairs he turned and headed back into the tunnels alone


	78. Chapter 78

**Chapter 77**

**Somewhere else**

**Greenwood, MS**

**Spencer**

Into the tunnels alone. After his first turn he wished he had Elizabeth here. No, not _here_ here. It was hard to tell which was more terrifying, that Morgan was down here potentially hurt, probably helpless, possibly dying or that he was down here alone in the lair of what he was finally accepting was The Enemy.

If you believe in one you have to believe in the other, Spencer thought. And I think I have to believe in one. I think Julio was right, there are some places in the world that are in Shadow, where some force that has yet to be scientifically measured works to throw the universe out of balance and into chaos. And it does that by influencing the minds of humans, the electro-magnetic energy of the human brain.

Does this mean, asked Student, that Professor James Fallon could perhaps be the first person to confirm the existence of evil, and perhaps even Satanic influence? That he could, perhaps, identify the difference between what Julio called Saint and Egun?

You know, he very well could be, Dr. Reid answered, given his work in trans-generational violence and how the potential can be measured using functional MRI scans. I do wish I could discuss this insight with Dr. Fallon, but he would think me a nutter for it. I intend, however, to discuss this with Rev. Wickham at our next supper together. In the meantime I ought to stop lecturing and keep my wits about me because I am behind the Shadow and I rather think the Enemy has a plan.

What sort of a plan, Dr. Reid? Student asked.

I don't know, but for the moment I intend to concentrate on finding Agent Morgan and consider the Enemy's plan on the flight home. And while I don't truly wish for my wife to be _here_ specifically, I would not mind having her read to me right now. It would be calming to the nerves.

Dr. Reid, you do realize why you find that so comforting, don't you? Student was challenging him; maybe he was finally beginning to learn. It's because your Mother used to read to you, it was the one time you felt safe and comforted and loved. It might even be indicative of an…

"Use the word Oedipal in this class just once," Spencer murmured to no one in particular as he tried to pick a direction at an intersection, "and I will flunk you for the semester."

It was back out to the main tunnel, then left to continue on down. Down to where the tunnels got a bit narrower and then around this corner and…

Someone hissed right behind him. Someone or something hissed right behind him.

Shadows, he thought, and the Enemy and if I am about to meet an actual Oh My God demon I swear I will go home and let Elizabeth spray me with the hose until she is satisfied with my sanctification.

Spencer turned very, very slowly.

There was what appeared to be the figure of a man a ways down the tunnel, just on the edge of the reach of the light.

It hissed at him.

He took a deep breath, marshaled his courage, and stepped across to the other side, and then took another look. "Morgan?"

"Reid!" He looked to be all right, except for where his wrists had been rubbed raw by the cuffs. "Where's Will? Get me out of here!"

It was the work of a moment to unlock the cuffs. Morgan clearly would need some bandages, perhaps a good looking over at the nearest ER, but once he got to his feet he didn't look much the worse for wear. "We found Will Ben, alive but hurt. Seaver took him to the surface and was going to call for help. Hotch and Rossi are checking tunnels on the other side of town."

"All right, let's get out of here." Morgan turned to look one way, then the other. "Are we completely turned around?"

In the terror and excitement of finding Morgan Spencer had lost track of the way he came. "I think so. We just need to get to a marked intersection; I memorized the map and coding system before we came down."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Morgan shook his head as they picked a direction and headed off. "Did we ever figure out what this guy is doing down here?"

"Seaver and I found his hiding place. He looks to be a mission-oriented sociopath with a satanic delusion. He's been using the skin to make a Satanic Testament."

"That doesn't surprise me either. I keep hoping we're done with the horror movie crap."

"I know. Although I have to say, if Julio was right, this place is very much behind the Shadow."

"Will you stop that?" Morgan asked, more than a little testy.

"I thought you wanted me to have some kind of faith?" Spencer replied, much more calmly.

"I changed my mind." Morgan retorted. "When the Mad Scientist starts using words like "belief" and "faith" to refer to himself then the world has become far too scary for us normal people."

"If it's any help I was actually considering ways we could test the hypothesis in a manner conforming to scientific principles. Have I ever discussed Dr. Fallon's research with you?"

"I think I slept through that. Is that a marker?"

Spencer shined his light on the wording on the wall. "Yes. This should bring us up close to where Seaver pulled out Detective Ben."

"Oh I am all for getting out of here."

* * *

Spencer couldn't decide if it was in the service of Good or Evil that the entire Greenwood police department headed down into the tunnels.

He was able to make up a map showing them where they had found Will Ben, where they had found the evidence of what he was doing with the skin, of where his comfort zone might be. They made a few suggestions to help avoid the carnage, but in the end the entire department wanted revenge or justice, depending on how you looked at it.

He decided he didn't want to think about that anymore.

Dr. Messer's voice came back to him. _Remember; just because you can remember everything perfectly, that doesn't mean you have to think about it. Let's practice shutting up memories into case boxes in the back of your mind. That way you only have to look into them when you need to reference that case._

He took a few deep breaths, pinched the bridge of his nose to calm the headache threatening to form, and went through the little mental ritual they had worked out. He took all his memories of this case, everything from the bodies to the skin book to his time in the tunnel to his fear of…

…_oh my God we nearly lost Morgan…._

…losing his brother, packed it into a neatly labeled box, and was going to put it on a shelf in his mental archive when he realized he wasn't quite done with it.

He wandered over to where the EMT was looking over Morgan. Morgan insisted he was fine, didn't need to go to the hospital here, would have everything looked over when they got back to DC. "I can't wait to head home from this one." Morgan said to him.

"No kidding." Spencer agreed with him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Morgan told him. But Spencer looked into his eyes, saw the creeping horrors hiding there, how he was moving a little too quick, acting a little too aware. He's not okay, Spencer thought, no matter what he says next he is not okay. "I don't know. I couldn't help him, you know? I heard him screaming and I couldn't…" Morgan couldn't finish. Without a word Spencer dug his card file out of his bag and handed Morgan Dr. Messer's business card. Morgan chuckled, "Seriously?"

"Physician, heal thyself." At Morgan's blank look he sighed. "You got me to go."

"She's that good?"

"Definitely."

"All right," Morgan shook his head in a way that Spencer knew meant that he would go, and not make a fuss, and not want anyone to fuss. That was all right. "Right now I just want to get on the plane and go home." Morgan sighted. "I want to go somewhere with no tunnels and no creepy Satanic unsubs and no one licking me unless she's…"

Wait. Something wasn't right.

"Licking you?" Spencer asked Morgan.

"Yeah, that unsub licked my ankle. It was the only time he touched me after he got me trussed up." Morgan looked at him. "Why?"

The unsub licked him, Spencer thought. He _licked_ him.

_Licked_

His mental archive collapsed in on itself. _Now pay attention__… __Are you actually trying to profile Satan... __the egun, the ghosts of those who create evil and chaos in this world…? We can't tell her we didn't want to risk demon exposure… I'm a priest…they think it was arson…Our Master wants your taste…Take me to see the desert…__Remember what we forgot…Don't be afraid, you're no longer alone…__I didn't get to say good-bye…You're mine!...A house of God is a place of refuge for those who do the work of the gods on earth…Don't you know?...did you really think I was gone, boy?_

"Reid?" Morgan asked. "Reid?"

Spencer swallowed the sudden knot of fear in his throat and punched in the first number on his phone.

* * *

.

* * *

**Note:** Professor James Fallon is a Professor of Anatomy and Neurobiology at UC Irvine among other things, and was seen lecturing in the opening of episode 6:08 "Outfoxed"


	79. Chapter 79

**Chapter 78**

**BAU headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

"What?"

"Two weeks." Strauss told Hotch. "It's a new policy designed to help support the mental health and recovery of our agents. After any sort of hostage situation there is a mandatory leave period, one week per day. Agent Morgan was missing the better part of two days and so he must take two weeks with pay starting as soon as he's debriefed."

"We were planning on re-joining the Valhalla task force, now that Doyle has struck again." Hotch informed her.

"I understand. Agents Rossi and Seaver and Ms. Garcia have already been re-assigned over there and I will expect you to join them as soon as the debriefing paperwork is on my desk. But Agent Morgan gets two weeks."

Hotch let out an irritated breath, the only sign of his mounting fury. "And Dr. Reid."

"Is on leave for the duration."

"You're pulling my best people, our best agents with the most experience in this situation off this case now?"

"It's policy. Dr. Reid is far too close to this and you know it."

"His pregnant wife is missing. He needs to help get her safely home." Hotch insisted.

"And given his stress level and emotional state he's highly likely to make a mistake." Strauss countered. "He needs to stay out of the way. Now see to it." With that she turned and walked back down the hall way.

Hotch closed his eyes and stood there a long moment. All he could think of was that five minutes that Haley and Jack were alone with the Reaper, before they figured out where they were. Five minutes that had lasted forever, an unending vale of pure fear. Five minutes. And Elizabeth and Sophie had already been gone forty-eight hours. They had found out three hours ago. Three hours of that fear and no end in sight. I would be insane by now, he thought, and yet all Reid wants to do is get to work. He turned to head to the bullpen. As he left the hallway and walked in to the larger room he found Morgan. "Have you seen Reid?"

"Yeah, he just pushed past me, heading for the elevator. I was coming to ask you what the hell happened." Morgan replied.

"You're on two weeks leave." Hotch shook his head at the look on Morgan's face. "She's sticking to the letter of the policy. And she's put Reid on leave until we get Reverend Bess back. She's not letting him help."

"Oh man." Morgan groaned. "He must have overheard, that's why he left. I'll go…"

"Agent Morgan?" It was the debriefing team.

"…after him as soon as they let me." Morgan told him. "You go find Doyle, I got this."

* * *

A few hours later he finally finished. As he was walking out he came across Garcia waiting for him. "Ride home?" She asked him.

"Sure thing." As they walked out Garcia curled herself around Morgan. "Hey, better be careful, Kevin could see."

"He's already at home. And besides, I don't care." She said with an audible sniff. "You're safe. You're here. And with Reverend Bess gone that's even more important right now."

"All right." He kept his arm around her until they got to the car. Garcia finally stepped away as he went fishing for his keys.

Then he stopped. "What is it?" She asked as she caught his stunned expression.

"Son of a bitch." He looked at her, and for the first time she saw true fear in Derek Morgan's eyes. "I can't take you straight home."

"Well whatever it is I'm going with you." As soon as he unlocked the car she got in with the air of someone who would have to be pried out. "Where are we going?"

"To find Reid."

**Somewhere Else**

**Elizabeth**

She huddled in the dark, listening to the hum of the small air conditioner mounted high on the wall.

She'd spend at least a day in the back of that van, trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey. All through the night they had driven, and then through most of the next day, long enough for the heat of the sun to shift from one side of the van to the other. At first she'd concentrated on not throwing up, with duct tape across her mouth the chances of her choking to death would have been high. Then, for the longest time she concentrated on not soiling herself. But in the end she figured that if you were going to keep a pregnant woman tied up that long you had to expect it, and let nature have its way.

Sometime after her third accident it started get scary. She started moving past thirsty. She started getting scared for the baby, knowing that dehydration can lead to premature labor. And then as her mouth dried out and her eyes started feeling gluey and every part of her screamed for water, she started getting scared for herself.

When they reached their destination, despite the thick heat that settled over everything, she was wrapped in a blanket and then even more securely tied. It was all she could do not to smother for those few minutes. She felt a dizzying swoop as she was hauled straight up into the air for a few minutes by the ropes that surrounded her, then she felt herself threaded through a small space, and then she was here. Someone untied her ropes and all, but by the time she worked the tape off her mouth and eyes they were gone, and all was dimness.

In the faint light that seeped in around that air conditioner she saw that one end of the space had been walled off into a small bathroom, a sink directly across from the door and a toilet behind the partition. Mainly by feel she had found a tin cup on the edge of the sink. She'd drank and drank until she had to go again, and then a second time, and by the third some time later it wasn't as rank so she figured she was decently re-hydrated.

Once she'd gone the first time, and was working on the second, she'd explored her surroundings. She was in an attic, as near as she could tell, with one "wall" really a steeply slanting roof. Her surrounding were all fairly new construction, she could smell the newness of the pine and feel the nail heads and tape over the joints of the drywall. The AC was mounted into a hole in the roof, with the cord snaking through the floor. It did it's job adequately, keeping the space at a comfortable temperature despite the height and the heat outside, but it was installed so well that she couldn't really see out around it. She had the sink, the toilet with a supply of paper, the tin cup, and a pallet on the floor, a thick mattress and some bedding.

That was all.

She didn't even have light.

She'd washed out her skirt and underpants as best she could, then wrapped herself in the sheet from the pallet, managed to get herself down on the bed, and waited. In the silence she could feel Sophie rolling and moving, dancing she thought, stretching her new limbs and strengthening new muscles. Or maybe they do it for their mothers, Elizabeth thought, maybe they just move so we know they're all right.

After a time the trap door in the floor opened. It was dim on the other side, but there was enough of an outline to make out that a tray had been pushed over the edge of the hole. She tried to drag it over only to find a chain attached to it that ran through a hole right on the edge of the trap door. Something on the other edge of the chain was too large to pass through that hole. They can pull the tray to the edge, she thought, and take it away and never have to speak to me to ask for it.

It was a tray similar to the ones used in prisons, or sometimes school once, metal and divided. Chicken and broccoli, tater tots of all things. A chunk of homemade bread already slathered with butter. A small carton of milk and an apple. Not a bad meal, simple and homey, but someone eating for two could have stood larger portions.

As her fingers drifted among the chunks of the meal, the only way she could eat given that she felt no cutlery, she found the one thing that gave her pause.

It was a pill.

She picked it up, sniffed it, after a moment even dared lick it. It was large and heavy and tasted faintly of yeast and had some numbers carved into the surface.

It was a vitamin pill. If she wasn't mistaken it was a pre-natal vitamin pill. Identical to the ones in the bottle on her kitchen counter back home.

She knew where she was.

She knew why.

She dropped the pill into the chicken, pushed herself as far away from that opening as she could, and huddled around her belly as what had been fear became earth-shattering terror. "It's all right Sophie. It's gonna be all right. You're daddy's going to find us. He's going to find us and keep us safe. He promised me. He promised. He promised." She felt the tears start to roll down her face. "And even if he doesn't find me, he won't stop until he finds you."

Eventually she forced herself to eat, if only to feed the baby. Because now she knew.


	80. Chapter 80

**Chapter 79**

**St. Martin's Rectory**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Morgan**

The front of the rectory was festooned with crime scene tape. Garcia frowned at it as she got out of the car. "Do you think they went through the house?"

"Strauss?" It wasn't a question. Morgan nodded at the back of the house, where a single light burned in the kitchen. "Come on."

"What's going on?" She asked as they went up the back steps.

Morgan was about to say he didn't know and cross your fingers when they opened the back door and the problem became obvious.

Spencer was sitting at the kitchen counter where he had turned on the work light, the only light in the house. He was sitting there contemplating the objects in front of him.

There was a small bottle and a needle on the counter

Morgan and Garcia just looked at each other, and then she nodded for him to go forward. "Hey." Morgan said by way of quiet greeting. As he stepped around the light caught the bottle of Dilaudid just so and he was able to see that it was still full. As it had been the entire time it resided in his pocket.

"I can't find Tiberius." Spencer replied, not taking his eyes off the small bottle. "They went through the house while we were gone, now I can't find him."

"He's a cat. He knows where to find the food bowl."

There was a long pause. "Did I ever tell you my theory about why Tobias used drugs?"

"No."

"He was self-medicating. I'm just not entirely certain for what. It could have been for C-PTSD, I mean he obviously took it all the way through to a psychotic break. Or it could have been for the pain from the associated depression. Or it could have been for the lack of love in his life, or all three."

Morgan listened to the spaces between the words, or tried to, "Does it matter?"

"I think so." Spencer told him. He had yet to turn around. "It's like that, you know, getting high off this stuff. It takes away all the pain and all the fear. The physical sensations are remarkably similar. It's a lot like love."

"Reid…"

"You know I've never been able to fully finish Step 7. You're supposed to go the people you've harmed and make amends. I've never been able to properly do that with any of you because that would mean you would have to officially lie to Strauss and the Bureau and I didn't want to put you in that position."

"It's all right man. We know."

"Do you know why I was such an asshole for those few months?"

"Because you were high."

"No. That's the thing, I never got high at work or when we were out on a case. Not once. But in the amounts I was using Dilaudid clears the body within 36 hours. But the end of a case I was hitting withdraw l and I didn't have my fix."

"Reid."

"So I want you to know, I'm sorry."

"I told you, it's all right. It's in the past."

"That's not what I'm sorry for." As Morgan watched he could feel, almost see Spencer mind ticking over. "I would have loved him you know, if I had known him then. I would have tried to help him."

"I know, but…."

Spencer interrupted him. "Because I know now what I didn't know then. And that's why I'm sorry, because I'm going to be an utter asshole for a while and you're all going to have to live with me until I can get my fix, and I'm apologizing in advance for anything I might say or do." He slid off the stool, picked up the bottle, and cradled it in his hands as he moved around the kitchen.

"Reid…"

"Because I know now that this is a poor, fucking substitute." He moved to the sink and pulled a penknife out of his pocket. "It's not nearly as strong as love." He peeled the top off the bottle. "It's not good enough and it will…not…do…the job." With a few good shakes he poured the drug down the drain.

Without a word his friends moved to his side and pulled him in very tight.


	81. Chapter 81

**Chapter 80**

**Mt. Moriah Baptist Church**

**Washington DC**

**Morgan**

"Uh uh. It's not safe. With Doyle out there we all have to double up." Morgan insisted.

"It's better if you just stay here. I'll be fine."

After last night's breakthrough he had forced Spencer into the car to drive Garcia home, then he came back to spend the night at the rectory, just in case. He had expected Spencer to sleep up in the master bedroom, was going to sleep in the nursery across the hall, but Spencer had refused, saying he couldn't sleep in their bed without her. So he had slept in what he called the maid's room, his old room off the kitchen. And for once he spent the night on Spencer's couch.

There was something poetic about that.

Now it was bloody early and he was sitting in his car, parked on a side street in the middle of DC. Spencer told him he was, in his words, going to fight. Apparently that fight meant sitting here while Spencer did something in a church up the street. "Look, I am really tired of people not telling me shit. Will you just tell me what the hell we're doing here?"

"I'm going to go talk to someone who can get Strauss off our backs."

"Who?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because of how we know each other," Spencer nodded in the direction of the church.

"You can't tell me because you know this guy from church?"

"No, I can't…" Spencer sighed. "I can't tell you because this is an NA meeting for cops. He really wouldn't want anyone else to know he's a member."

Oh. "Oh."

"Now there are going to be about 30 armed cops in there. I doubt that Doyle is that stupid or desperate." Spencer got out and closed the door. "Give me an hour, no more."

"All right," Morgan sat there and watched Spencer walk up the street and head into the church hall.

He waited.

Eventually he saw a car park on the other side of the street, a ways up there. A familiar figure got out and headed into the hall. Morgan felt his jaw drop. You have got to be kidding me, he thought.

About thirty minutes later Spencer came back. "Now what?" Morgan asked him.

"Now we go get breakfast."

**International House of Pancakes**

**Washington DC**

Given that they had eaten before leaving the house that morning, Morgan had coffee. He sat there and watched the waitress put a platter of eggs, sausage and a tall stack of pancakes dripping with butter in front of Spencer. "Are you really going to eat that?"

"Yes." Spencer said without flinching from the criticism as he went to work with the syrup bottle. "Did you know that while muscles and other organs can burn fats and other metabolites to fuel cellular activity the human brain can only burn glucose?"

"Well that explains why you never gain anything. I saw you eat before we left though."

"I know." He began to plow through the meal, as if intent on getting as much of it into him as he could in the least amount of time.

"You know, no one is going to take it away."

"I know."

For a long moment Morgan didn't say anything, he just shook his head. "You know, there's only so much he can do. In the end it's still Strauss' call."

"I know. I just want her to know he and I know each other. From him."

"Why?"

"You'll see."

About fifteen minutes later Morgan's phone rang. "Yeah baby girl, what's up?"

"Strauss wants to see Reid. She is totally on the warpath. Where are you?"

Morgan looked over at Spencer. "Sitting in an IHOP, watching the computer charge his batteries for battle. We're on our way."

**Office of Chief Erin Strauss**

**Quantico VA**

**Spencer**

Spencer stepped into Chief Strauss' office and closed the door behind him. He watched as she stepped behind her desk and laid down the file she was holding. "So, how well do you know the Director?" She asked.

"I don't think you need to know that." He replied. I have always been afraid of you, he thought. Why? It's not like you can truly hurt me. It's not like you ever could. The absence of fear is a very curious sensation.

"It's still my call whether or not to assign you and Agent Morgan to the Valhalla task force." She pointed out. "It's not up to him."

"I know." Spencer stood there, looking at her, carefully keeping his body language neutral so as not to distract from his words. "I heard a saying once. 'The most evil thing in the universe is a small man afraid for his job.'"

"I beg your pardon?"

"That's what you are, you know; a small person afraid for your job. You see you made your way up the ladder on the basis of your political skill and your ability to brown nose. You've never been in law enforcement, you have no field experience, and you've never done any study of the human mind. You have no qualification to run this department, at all. That's why the first thing you did upon taking this position was to go after the one person below you who would be capable or replacing you when the Powers that Be recognized that you were incompetent. Hotch has experience in both the law and law enforcement and he's proven his ability in the field time and time again. That's why you're afraid of him."

"How dare you!" Strauss fairly blazed with anger.

Spencer plowed right over her. "I haven't said anything up to now because I know Hotch can take care of himself. And I haven't been in your sights because I'm not management track. The best I can ever hope for is to be an instructor at the Academy someday. But yesterday you put the safety of my family at risk and that crosses the line. Now I am going to walk out of this office and either Agent Morgan or I is going to go to the SCIF and join the task force or I am going to call John…" He let the significance of being on a first name basis with the Director hang there a moment. "…and tell him what you made your youngest agent do on that couch over there during your little witch hunt in order to keep the team from being broken up in the wake of the Foyet incident."

Strauss glared at him with confusion. "I never made you do anything out of line."

"Really? Because I. Remember. Everything."

Spencer watched as the realization of what he could do, of what a court certified eidetic memory meant, the sword he could hold over her came into her eyes. "You little son of a bitch," she hissed at him.

"Never come between me and my family. Ever." With that he turned and walked smartly out of her office.

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico VA**

Spencer went down the steps and over to his desk. The entre bullpen stilled as they watched Strauss follow him a few steps behind. She stood on the cat walk and glared down at him, giving off waves of fury. They watched as Spencer picked up his phone, dialed in the first half of an extension, and looked back at her, waiting.

Just waiting.

After a long moment they saw real fear come into her eyes.

"Agent Morgan. Dr. Reid. You'll both report to the Valhalla task force. Immediately." With that she turned and walked back to her office.


	82. Chapter 82

**Chapter 81**

**Sensitive Compartmentalized Information Facility (SCIF)**

**FBI building**

**Quantico, VA**

Word preceded them. When Spencer and Morgan knocked on the door of the facility they were let in without comment.

Well, mostly without comment. Rossi looked over at Morgan. "How?" was all he wanted to know.

Morgan gestured at Spencer. "All I know is, if he's having pancakes for breakfast, get out of his way."

The head of the task force looked over at them; specifically over at Spencer, "Dr. Reid. I'm sorry for your loss."

Spencer managed a very thin smile. "We haven't lost yet. Anything I can do to help." There were nods all around as the assembled agents realized he wasn't going to fall apart on them. "What do you have so far?"

"This." They went to the big screen and punched up a video. It was taken from one of the security cameras on the side of the church. As a result the angle was horrible. But he watched Elizabeth come around the corner of the church and into the light of the streetlamp on the corner, her hair up to beat the heat, with two utterly familiar books in her arms. Pat was with her, pushing his bicycle. They spoke for a few moments, then he rode off and she started across the street where a van was parked in front of the rectory. She slowly disappeared out of the top corner of the screen.

When she was just behind the van, when all they could see was from her waist down, the back of the van flew open, two men came out and dragged her in. He watched as the books went flying and she banged her…

…_her hip. Please god let that be her hip…._

…hip on the bumper. Then the doors slammed and they were gone. They couldn't even get the plate number.

"Lousy angle on the cameras," someone commented.

"They're protecting the window against vandalism. It's a Tiffany." I may go home and put a rock through every pane, Spencer thought. "Is that all we have?"

"No." Hotch told him. "This was delivered an hour ago. Do you recognize it?"

Spencer stared at the book Hotch was holding. It was one of the two books Elizabeth had been carrying, one he'd seen her with every day since he started coming to the rectory. "It's her Bible." He said, looking at the familiar, worn black leather cover.

"Are you sure it's hers?" Rossi asked.

"It should have an inscription on the frontispiece, presented to her from Marie Baxter. It's also a special design for seminary students, with extra wide margins. Her copy was full of notes."

It caused him a queer, curious pain to see Rossi open it up and thumb through it. He'd never seen anyone but Elizabeth open that book; he knew it was more personal that a journal would be for her. Rossi nodded that it was indeed the one Spencer described. Then he turned it over.

A familiar, curly shamrock had been burned into the leather of the back cover.

Spencer felt the inside of his head go a little white.

Hotch held up the note that had come with it. "'You know what we want.' And there's an e-mail address. Garcia is running it down now." Spencer rather didn't think it would get them anywhere. "Is there anything else we ought to know before we get back to work?" Hotch asked him.

Spencer didn't even want to consider this. Please no, he thought, I promised her. But he went to the board and wrote a date about two months out on at the top. "Past that Sophia would be old enough to be born without the need of a ventilator or incubator." He told them. "At that point we should probably start looking for two separate victims."

"Let's find her before it comes to that." Morgan said, seeing the pain hiding behind the determination in his friend's eyes.

**Somewhere Else, three weeks later**

**Elizabeth**

It's been weeks, she thought. It's been weeks and weeks. It's been forever.

Intellectually she knew better. It had not been that long. Every day she received an orange on her breakfast tray, and every day she tore a bit of the rind off and kept it. By counting the number of rinds she could count the number of days she had been here, and then mentally calculate how close it was to the important dates in Sophia's life. It had only been three weeks at most.

It was that one date in late October that frightened her. She wouldn't put it past the man who held her to force Sophia from her womb at that point. It wouldn't surprise her in the least; and even without that, sooner or later…

No, she was not going to think about that. "He promised me." She crooned to her belly in the dark. "Your daddy promised me he would be there. He promised me he would hold me when it was your time to come into the world. He promised me there would be doctors and nurses and neither of us would die. He promised."

Not that she was questioning her sanity at all these days.

"They say that I can move the mountains  
And send them crashing into the sea  
They say that I can walk on water  
If I would follow and believe"

She sat in the dark and gently rocked as she sang a lullaby, feeling the child in her belly twist and kick, taking reassurance in that sign of health, that her child was active and growing still.

Every morning after they took her breakfast tray she got up off her pallet. One wall of this place was straight; the opposite was the steeply slanting underside of the roof. That gave her a very narrow path along the straight wall where she could walk without having to duck her head. She'd pushed her pallet around to the angled side, to give herself as much room as possible. After every meal she got up and walked from the wall to the bathroom sink and back, probably all of six steps, back and forth, until she could walk no further. It was supposed to help keep the blood and fluid in her body from pooling in her legs, forming dangerous clots. It was supposed to help her heart pump. It gave her something to do.

Then, every morning, once she could walk no further, she sat on her pallet and celebrated Matins, just as she had every morning, even though her daughter was her only congregation.

Her only congregation, because she honestly felt like the Lord couldn't hear her, at all.

It wasn't a surprise, she'd felt this way before. To quote that Palo Mayumbe priest that Spencer knew, who she realized was far too insightful, she was behind the Shadow, hidden in the rocks where the Good Shepherd couldn't see.

He was looking for her.

He and those who served Him were looking for her.

She wanted to believe that.

But it was so hard. She hadn't felt this far from the Lord in…since…

"They say that love can heal the broken  
They say that hope can make you see  
They say that faith can find a Savior  
If you would follow and believe"

Right now her belief was thin, frightfully thin.

But there was something she could hold on to. "Your daddy promised." She told Sophie. "He promised. And even if he doesn't find me in time he will find you. That I promise. I do.".

* * *

.

* * *

Lyrics from _Faith Like a Child_ by Jars of Clay. Copyright to the original writer, no infringement intended


	83. Chapter 83

**Chapter 82**

**St. Martin's Episcopal Church**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Six weeks later**

**Spencer**

In the end, all his posturing and blustering and threats had come to naught. They had nothing to go on. Nothing. Not a hint of a clue as to where she was. Or where Doyle was. Or where his son was for that matter.

They had nothing.

Spencer sat in the front pew of the quiet church, stretched his long legs under the rail in front of him and sighed. At least this was one thing he hadn't had to worry about. Harry, Thelma and Rev. Pat had stepped in to fill all the gaps in the parish in her absence, freeing him, in their words, to bring their girl home to them. Harry had even arranged for him to remain in the rectory until, in his words, she came home, one way or another.

But now she had been gone for six weeks, which was far longer than he ever expected. It was longer than even his worse fears.

During all that time he had avoided coming here. Some odd, superstitious part of him had been afraid that he might find her here somehow, that her spirit might be haunting this place that she so loved. Some odd, superstitious part of him was afraid of what that might mean. Or worse, he might take comfort in this place, and what would that mean for him? But now there was no place else to go and nowhere else to turn and you know, what the hell?

"You're not real." He said to the cross on the wall, his voice too loud and too confident in the silence. "There is no empirical proof of your existence. If a Nazarene carpenter had been wandering around the Middle East two thousand years ago working miracles someone would have made a note of it. The Roman Empire is second only to the modern era for paperwork accumulation, someone would have written something down somewhere. And not seventy years after your death, either, which is when we can date the earlier Gospel. There is no proof that you are or ever were real."

The figure on the cross hung there in the silence.

Spencer considered this. "The problem is that I have known evil. I've seen it, I've touched it and I've smelled it. I've looked it in the eye, I've asked it questions and heard it answer. I've dipped my hands in the blood of its victims and felt their tears on my shoulder. I can look at a scan of a human brain and conclusively point to where evil lies. I cannot deny that I can see the pattern it creates in humanity. Patterns that grow increasingly harder to explain by random chance."

There was still no answer from the figure on the wall.

"The problem is that the man who taught me more than anything, the man I consider a father, once said that if you believe in one you have to believe in the other. And I do not know that I can continue to deny the presence of an evil actor in the world."

Still. Nothing.

Spencer considered that and shook his head. "You know, it really doesn't matter what I believe. My wife believes in you. That belief gives her life shape and meaning. She's dedicated herself to furthering your work, or at least the best parts of the philosophy created in your name." These were not tears forming; he was not starting to cry. "You know, I honestly think that might have had something to do with her decision to marry me. I know we named our daughter Sophia, the Greek term for the Wisdom of God, which ought to tell you something. Now if I know anything, I know that wherever she is she is screaming for your help right now, I know she would be doing that. But if Julio was right, and I am leaning more toward his theodicy every day, then she might be somewhere where you can't hear. So on her behalf; I guess I have to ask. Help." There was no denying it. He swiped at his eyes with the cuff of his sweater. "Please help. We could use a miracle right about now."

"Mrow."

God was meowing at him. Great.

"Mrow." No, that was coming from behind him.

Spencer turned and looked back down the aisle. There, in the middle of the church, sat Tiberius, missing since the Great Strauss Invasion six weeks ago.

Not exactly the miracle he was asking for.

He got up and went to get the cat, who in the most stubborn of feline ways, stood up and turned to walk toward the door. Tiberius managed to stay just out of reach the entire way down, until they stepped out of the old stone church, at which point he flopped into a sunbeam.

And a text message, blocked by those old, stone walls, reached Spencer's cell phone, a text from Hotch.

_She found him._

**BAU headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

"Where?" Was the first question out of Spencer's mouth as all but ran through the bullpen.

"Who?" Was the first question out of Morgan's.

"Doyle." Spencer told him. That ought to be obvious, he thought.

"No, who found Doyle?" Morgan asked him.

Hotch sighed and went back to the first question. "Northern Italy. They're on their way to Rome now."

"Was Elizabeth with him?"

"No."

Spencer sagged. Still, they were several steps closer, weren't they? Was it almost a miracle?

Garcia came storming out of her lair, heading for the conference room. "All of you. Now."

They obeyed.

She called a video up on to the big screen. "Okay, Doyle is still in Italy. But Clive Easter called in with the IP to his computer so I was able to copy over the hard drive and start poking through his files. And I found this." She hit play on the screen.

The scene was utterly familiar, the street between the church and the rectory at night. Someone was shooting through the windshield of a car parked a little down the block. The van was parked in front of the rectory, clear in the light of the streetlamp. After a few moments he saw Elizabeth and Pat come around the corner of the building. "There she is," said a man with a thick Irish accent.

"She looks ready to pop, doesn't she? And Church of England no less," said another. "What are we waiting for?"

"Fuck if I know. But you do what the boss says, yeah."

After a moment they watched Pat ride off and Elizabeth cross the street. Then the doors of the van flew open. "What the hell?"

The two men dragged Elizabeth inside as the books in her arms went flying. "Who the fuck are these clowns?"

The van doors slammed shut and it drove off, giving them a clear view of the license plate. "Fuck if I know." The car started up. "We're getting out of here before the cops show."

"Hang on." The car door opened and a figure in work clothes got out and darted up the street, just out of view of the camera above the church window. He picked up a book and ran back to the car, slamming the door behind him.

"What the fuck is that for?"

"Proof that she's gone."

The video ended.

"I already ran the plate; it was stolen two days before she went missing."

"That doesn't matter." Spencer was already firing up his phone. "Garcia, can you clean up the faces of those three men?" They had been able to see the driver through the open van doors.

"Not well enough for facial recognition."

"We don't need facial recognition." His call was answered. "Bobby, where are you? I need you in DC right now. Who do we have to clear it through?"

"I'm already in DC." Det. Bobby Preston, NYPD drawled at him. "I'm doing some training at the FBI, I was gonna come up and harass you for lunch."

Okay, now I might have to believe in miracles, Spencer thought. "Come over to the BAU right now. We're clearing the way." He looked over at Hotch, who was already moving to do that.

"What's going on?" Morgan asked.

"Look at the plate." Spencer told him.

"Garcia said it was stolen."

"Yeah, but it's from Arkansas." Spencer pointed out. "We've been chasing the wrong man."


	84. Chapter 84

**Chapter 83**

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

"What the hell's going on, Doc?" Bobby asked as soon as he was escorted to the conference room.

Spencer pointed to the board where just the assailants' faces, cropped and cleaned up by Garcia, were up on the screen. "Do you recognize these men?"

"Yeah. Josiah Thorne, Jeddediah Thorne." He pointed to the two men from the back.

"Are you sure?' Rossi asked.

"Yeah. I grew up with those boys, I'd recognize them anywhere. And that," His voice was quiet and confused. "Is my brother Mark."

Spencer backed out and started playing the whole video for Bobby. It didn't take long. "God Damm, Son of a Bitch that piece of…"

Spencer left Bobby to what sounded like it was going to be an extensive cussing session and moved back to the team. "We're going to need warrants to go through all of Thorne's property, and maybe his associates as well. She could be anywhere out there."

"Doyle is known to sell weapon systems to terror groups. Thorne pulled off the kidnapping, but Doyle called it in." Rossi pointed out. He looked over at Hotch. "Can we call that colluding with a terrorist?"

"Give me ten minutes with the judge." Hotch replied as he headed to his office.

'What I don't understand is why." Rossi said. "Are you thinking that after what happened out there Thorne thinks this is his child?"

"No. Thorne never touched her."

"Spencer." Spencer blinked. Rossi had never used his first name before. "That rape kit came back positive. You know that."

Ah love, Spencer thought, I never meant to share your secrets with anyone. But I have to convince them. "Yeah, but it wasn't Thorne. She was in a consensual relationship with his eldest son. That's what set Thorne off for the beating."

"It would have." Bobby had come up behind them as they spoke. "One of the core beliefs out there is that Satan goes after the first born, they're the most vulnerable, and need the most protection."

Spencer continued. "Two days after you closed that end of the investigation she miscarried his grandchild on account of the beating."

"Aw hell." They looked over at Bobby. "For all that he claims to be Christian, what Thorne has going out there is a fertility cult more than anything. For all his offspring he has yet to have one Grandbaby out of 'em. In that crowd that's a sign of God's disfavor."

"And that would mean losing power. So he could be deluded in to thinking that's Joshua's child."

"And that he's confining her so she can't abort it." Bobby nodded. "It's the kind of thing he would do."

Hotch stuck his head out the door. "Wheels up in thirty."

Bobby looked over and grinned. "Y'all are going to arrest Thorne, you ain't leaving me behind."

**Thorne House**

**Atkins, AR**

Thorne's house wasn't really a house. It was one, large central building with a cavernous hall, commercial kitchen and what could have been military squad bays for all the children. Around it were smaller cottages for his married children, various outbuildings to support his small farm, and a chapel where he preached. And on all sides were properties owned by his followers. So by the time they got our of the cars and met the State Police a fair sized crowd had already gathered. It was cold out there already, the first thin crust of snow was scuddering on the ground in the wind. Spencer looked over at one of the buildings, recognized the dumpster, and shuddered deep inside before he followed the others into the house.

'We had a look around." The head of the State Police unit was telling them. "It's kinda hard to hide a pregnant lady. She's not here."

"This is harassment." Thorne intoned in his rolling, melodic voice. "We are being persecuted for our beliefs."

Something caught Spencer's eye.

"Oh get off it already." Bobby said, the weary disgust clear in his voice. They were clearly picking up an ongoing argument here. "Get up off your ass and go to China, see what real persecution looks like."

"Bobby Preston." Thorne chuckled. "Why am I not surprised to see you here." He turned to the State Police. "Clearly this is a personal vendetta. Whatever has been done has been done without my knowledge."

It was a small thing. Something hard to notice.

"Bullshit. You got those boys on such short leashes we could hear them choking in DC. They wouldn't break wind without asking Daddy's okay first. They took her, you put them up to it."

He didn't even have to get close to it. "There's one thing that I don't understand." He said to the assembled throng, pitching his voice to be heard without yelling, just like he would in that lecture hall. They all quieted and turned to him. "Reverend Thorne, Elizabeth told me you don't allow any books other than the Bible in your home."

"I see no reason to expose my children to the lies of the world." Thorne confirmed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Spencer looked at him, then moved to make a space. "Seaver, would you pick up that book and read the title please." He pointed to an exquisite little leather bound volume resting carelessly on the kitchen counter.

She did so, where everyone could see that she didn't pull it out of her clothing. "The Romantic Poetry of John Donne." She read.

"Not exactly Biblical." Spencer turned to watch Thorne's reaction. "Inside back cover."

Seaver opened it up. "It's stamped from Georgetown Used and Rare Books, Washington DC."

"She was carrying it home. She was holding it in the video." Spencer watched as Throne sagged, caught.

Rossi turned to the State Police. "Find her. Take every building down to the studs if you have to."

As the cops started moving Spencer looked around for one particular person, the one person in the back of the group that was not looking at him. "I don't think that will be necessary." He said to Rossi as he moved deeper into the house. He grabbed Joshua Thorne by the shoulders and nearly slammed him into the nearest wall. "Where is she?"

"I don't know." Joshua told him. But he still couldn't meet Spencer's eyes

"No. You know." Spencer took a deep breath. "I know you loved her. I know what you two did together."

Now Joshua looked at him, but there was naked fear in his eyes. "She told you."

"Yes. We're not like the people out here, I don't hate you and I'm not angry. But I know how guilty you must feel for not having done anything back then. This is your one chance to do right by her, your once chance to make it right. You know what he did was wrong, what he's doing is wrong."

Joshua shook his head. "He's my father. God gave him dominion over all of us."

Spencer reached deep and played his last card. "Do you know that she had a miscarriage back then? Your father beat your child out of the girl you loved. Maybe that's why God hasn't given him any grandchildren, and that's why he's doing this."

He watched as the realization sunk in to Joshua's eyes. He looked over at his father, who was standing there, slowly, finally crumbling. "Is that true, Father?"

Thorne didn't answer. But then, what could he say.

Joshua turned back to Spencer. "She's in the attic above the Worship Hall. This way."

They ran to the hall, Spencer and Joshua, Bobby and Morgan. In the choir loft Joshua pushed aside a seemingly anchored set of cabinets, revealing a ladder that went up into the attic. Spencer kept his hands empty, but the other two pulled out their guns, just in case. He nodded to them to cover him, then climbed the ladder, unlatched the trap door above him and let out a rolling human stink. After a moment he stuck his head through the hole. "Elizabeth?"

"I knew you'd find me." Said that sweet, utterly familiar voice in the dark.

He nodded to Morgan and Bobby and hauled himself into the space. It was small enough that he could find her by feel. She was lying on a pile of bedding off to the side, and her skin felt soft and too warm and somehow quite wrong. "I told you you weren't going to do this alone. How are you?" Her stomach felt drum tight and impossibly huge. He placed one hand on it, fingers spread, and was rewarded with the feeling of Sophie moving under her skin. "That is still the creepiest thing ever." He commented calmly. But it was also the most wonderful.

And then he felt every muscle in her abdomen tighten under his hand, and heard her gasp. Oh no, he thought, oh no, no, no. "When did that start?"

"Late last night." She gasped out as she breathed through the pain. "I think you might be just in time."

He rather agreed. "Thirty-two weeks isn't that bad." He reassured her. "Technically she could have come out four weeks ago." He moved back to the trap door.

"Yeah, in a hospital." He could hear the fear in her voice.

"Well, that's where were going. Morgan!" He called down to his best friend. "Medic! She's in labor!


	85. Chapter 85

**Chapter 84**

**Baptist Health Medical Center**

**Little Rock, AR**

**Spencer**

According to Morgan he had done rather well at hiding his shock at his wife's condition when they were finally able to pull her out of the attic. At first they had been afraid to move her, the medics were concerned that taking her out feet first would cause Sophie to put too much pressure on her cervix and hasten labor even more. In the end Morgan had solved the problem. They'd draped Elizabeth with a sheet, he'd protected her with his body, and then Morgan grabbed the Skillsaw he'd found and cut the hole bigger. Then they were able to lower her down in a rescue basket.

Granted that had left a big hole in the ceiling of Thorne's worship hall, but by that point no one really cared.

He had been shocked when he first saw her in daylight. She was too pale, her skin pasty and even a little grey, her hair grungy and matted, her limbs too thin and her belly too large by comparison. Once they got her to the nearest hospital the doctors in the ER had taken one look, diagnosed preterm labor due to extreme stress and low body weight, started her on drugs to stop labor and put her on a LifeFlight to the nearest High Risk Pregnancy center.

By the time they got there she was trembling from the effects of the drugs they had given her. Magnesium Sulfate to relax the uterine muscles also caused her body temperature to rise, effectively making her feverish, and further blurred her vision already damaged by the weeks in the dark. Tocolytic drugs stopped the contractions but also sped up her heart rate and breathing and lowered her blood pressure, leaving her trembling. And high doses of steroids to speed up the maturation of Sophie's lungs lowered her mother's blood glucose level, which was already low from inadequate caloric intake, leaving her weak and dizzy on top of the confusion and mental effects of six weeks of solitary confinement and the hormones of pregnancy.

Given all that, no one suggested moving her back to DC. Sophie was going to be born right here, hopefully later rather than sooner.

One more week, he thought as he settled into the chair beside the bed. One more week and it ought to be safe to let Sophie come out. It's only been one week of this and if she can just make one more week…. He looked over at Elizabeth and once again resisted the bizarre urge to tear off her skin and let the woman he loved out of her prison. "You're awake."

"It's easier to sleep." She said in that too far away voice. "I keep dreaming I'm home and its spring."

"I wish I could say it would be spring when we get home, but if all goes well it's going to be the beginning of winter."

"I wouldn't mind that. All white and all the Christmas decorations. I'm sorry you're missing Halloween though."

"There will be other Halloweens. Besides, Morgan said he would help us do something for it."

"Well, I don't need a costume. I already look like a horror."

Given that Elizabeth hadn't had more than a sponge bath in months, that they had tried to wash her hair in a bedside sink only to find it too long, what the drugs and the confinement and the pregnancy was doing to her body, she was unfortunately rather correct. "You're beautiful."

"Liar."

"I mean it. You're glowing."

"The smell is making you see things."

Spencer could only chuckle and hope it helped. "How do you feel?"

"The usual, sick, bored, and I still can't focus; I still can't think straight, it's still scaring me."

He sighed. He couldn't imagine. He didn't even want to imagine. "I know love. It will get better once Sophie can come out, I promise."

"You do always keep your promises." She was clearly taking some comfort in that. "It's not fair though; there were so many things I wanted to do for her. I never got to finish the nursery…"

"Shhh…" She was fretting over everything, had been for a week. But that was the confinement and the stress and it too would pass. "You know good and well that Pat is going to stay on for a few months to take care of the parish until you're ready to go back, and I'll still have plenty of vacation time to burn off. You'll be able to do whatever you want once Sophie can come out. You're knitting basket is waiting for you, I swear."

She managed a smile. "I'm being silly, aren't I?"

"Given the current state of things you're allowed."

"It's just that I can't even read."

"I know."

She had been lying on her side most of the time, the better to allow circulation to the baby. Now she slid her hand over to reach for his. "I still miss you."

He smiled as he took her hand. It was a little known aspect of pregnancy, what it did to women. Will had privately told him that JJ had been the same way. The long time apart had not helped. And now there was literally nothing to be done about it, any sort of pleasure like that risked starting labor. Given how she felt he wondered if he even dared touch her sometimes. Which was, of course, the one thing she craved above all else. Ripe, she'd said; ready to explode if someone just touched her. "I miss you. We'll get back to that, I promise that too."

She purred a little at that promise. "Is anyone else around?"

During the week they had been here was a near constant stream of nurses, visitors, family in the form of Morgan and Thelma, come down as Godfather and Grandmother, respectively, to help and support. But the constant company had prevented them from enjoying the only private avenue they had left nearly as much as they would like. "I think we have a few minutes to ourselves."

"Would you?"

"Of course," he reached into his satchel and pulled out one of the books he kept hidden from public view.

.

_Yours is the only body_

_I have ever known._

_Here I have found my realization_

_and my renewing,_

_and here in the true spreading_

_of you_

_I have sown sons and daughters_

_born strong and bearing_

_our love._

_._

_I have lain rested in you_

_and felt the constancy of ebbing heat_

_raised in flesh passion._

_._

_My lips have sensed the promise_

_of no other breasts, my hands_

_have stroked no other generous thighs,_

_my heart has sought no other direction._

_._

She reached over and ran her fingers over the scar on his arm, the scars beneath that, the vein that led to his heart. "I love you too."

* * *

.

* * *

Poem is "And This Is So" by Joseph H. Ball. Published in _Passionate Hearts_, Wendy Maltz ed. Published by New World Library in 1996. No copyright infringement intended


	86. Chapter 86

**Chapter 85**

**Baptist Health Medical Center**

**Little Rock, AR**

**Spencer**

"First drugs to stop labor, now drugs to start it." Elizabeth grumbled a week later.

It had come to the point of the balance at last. They could probably keep Sophie in longer if they had to, but the drugs and enforced rest were taking their toll on Elizabeth's system. At this point Sophie's chances were very good, but if Elizabeth suddenly decided to go downhill she'd take her daughter with her. There was no way to keep treating Sophie without making Elizabeth worse, and what would make Elizabeth better would do her daughter harm.

So it was time for Sophie to be born.

"I know. It's a funny thing." The nurse replied. "At least you don't have to stay in bed anymore."

They had cut off the tocolytic drugs last night. But up until now there hadn't been any signs of labor starting up again, so now they were going to induce. Spencer didn't like any of it, he'd read too much about the problems with induction drugs, how easily they could lead to the need for a c-section. And Elizabeth was much too frail for surgery, at least more frail than he would like.

"That's true." Elizabeth looked up. "Does that mean I can have a shower before we get started?"

"Don't see why not. Someone will have to help you though."

Elizabeth looked over at her husband. "I hope you packed your swim trunks."

* * *

Ten minutes later Elizabeth was stepping under the warm falling water with a groan of pure pleasure. "That good, huh?" His cheek muscles were starting to hurt; he hadn't smiled in so long.

"Oh you have no idea. It's been months." She turned to get the back of her head and ended up clutching the support bar on the wall. "Whoa. Still dizzy?"

"Hey, no falling, come here." He stepped in there with her and pulled her into his arms, letting her rest against him while he started plying the shampoo. "Now it makes sense." He gently teased. "You just wanted to get me naked."

"It's true. I confess." She leaned against his chest as he rinsed her hair, pressed a kiss into the hollow at the base of his throat.

"Yeah, well, that's an infection risk and you know it." He felt her laughter in his collar bone.

Only it turned out to not really matter. Ripe, she'd said, and he realized what she meant as he helped her with the cloth and the soap, ripe and full and ready to burst with life. It didn't have to be like that, every touch, every caress seemed to bring her a new murmur of pleasure. Finally even he couldn't resist anymore, just as he finished the final rinse as she stood, sheltered in his arms, he placed a kiss where he knew she would enjoy it, right under her ear, right there.

She rewarded him with a gasp that became a long groan of pleasure and pain and pure sensation. She took his free hand and held it to her belly so he could feel every muscle contracting under her skin. When it freed her he looked up and saw her smile, the light and magic in her eyes. In that moment she was perfectly, achingly beautiful. I will always remember this, he thought, thank God I will always remember.

* * *

Several hours later she was resting against him, bracing herself against his bent legs, snugly held in his arms as he murmured sounds of love and encouragement. She gave one huge, final cry of pleasure and pain and sensation as she sent everything left in her out into the world.

A moment later they heard a sharp, strong, healthy cry.


	87. Chapter 87

**Chapter 85**

**Baptist Health Medical Center**

**Little Rock, AR**

**Emily**

Rome. Atlanta. Little Rock. She didn't even have any luggage. As soon as Doyle was finally on a plane to Gitmo she'd gotten on the first available flight. She hadn't taken the time to speak to anyone. And no one had briefed her.

Now she was here, finding her way through a strange hospital, not entirely certain where she was going, exhausted, worn out, aching body and soul. She'd left everyone, had ripped everyone's life to shreds, all to stop a monster. It was what they did, what they all knew, and yet in the end it had been impossibly hard.

And yet Declan was safe. The only son she would ever have was safe to lead a good life.

That was enough. That had to be enough.

But if this wasn't then…then…

She turned down one more hallway and finally saw a familiar figure. It was fitting that the hardest one to face would be the first. "Morgan." She said by way of greeting as she walked up to him.

Morgan turned to look at her. She had expected to see anger in his eyes, confusion or pain. But all she saw was bright amusement there. "Hey. Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"Um, yeah," Emily shook her head in confusion. "Aren't you supposed to be mad at me?"

"Oh, I am. But it's been kind of a long night. I'll work on being mad tomorrow." He looked at her a long moment, then opened his arms.

Emily didn't turn it down. A moment later she was getting the first real hug since she'd walked out of that briefing ever so long ago. "What's happened? No one's told me anything in months. Tell me it all worked out; tell me it was worth it." Tell me, she thought, oh please.

Morgan just chuckled. "Come here." He led her down another short hallway to what felt like an anti-chamber. There a nurse stopped them, made her take off her coat, wash her hands, put on a yellow paper gown that made her feel like Big Bird, none of which helped her confusion at all.

Then they stepped into one of the adjoining rooms.

The first thing she saw was Elizabeth. She was lying in the hospital bed in the sunlight, looking pale and wan and ill, still. But she was smiling in her sleep. Next to the bed Spencer was occupying a recliner. He might have been dozing when they came in, but he opened his eyes, very carefully looked around, spotted her, and smiled.

There was a very small person resting on his chest.

Emily bent over to take a long look. Yes, there were wires running to a monitor, yes there was a tiny oxygen tube resting at her nose, but she was round and warm and pink and when her father moved a little she stretched and blinked and made a small sound like a cat. Emily looked and looked and felt the tears start to slip down her cheeks, "Hi Sophie."

"Hey." Spencer murmured quietly. He had the kind of smile that seemed permanent. "Welcome back to the world of the living."

"Thanks. Being dead sucked. How is she?"

"Better than they expected. Her lungs are good for her age; she didn't need to go on a ventilator, that's the big thing. They want to keep her here for treatment for another week before we try to get her on a plane, but they don't expect any lasting effects."

"How about Elizabeth?"

Spencer looked over at his wife. "She made it. She's going to need a lot of rehab to get her strength back, but they think she'll be fine in the long run. They don't even expect problems with another pregnancy, so long as we wait a few years."

"So there wasn't any permanent injury?"

"They think she's going to need glasses, of all things, between being in the dark for so long and the pregnancy and the drugs she might be nearsighted. But otherwise they both should be fine." Spencer looked down as Sophie squirmed again. "Do you want to hold her?"

"Oh." Emily shook her head. That was too much, after everything that happened, that was… "I couldn't, really."

Spencer grinned. "Oh yes you can. Come here; careful of the wires." Before she knew it Emily was sitting in that recliner with a warm, perfect little being resting her head against her shoulder. "Hey Sophie," Spencer murmured, gently brushing the back of her head, "This is Emily. She's going to be your Godmother, if she wants the job."

"Oh Reid!" No, I couldn't. Not after everything I did. I walked out on you, just like everyone else."

"You gave up your whole life to keep us all safe. You went out there on your own to protect us. If it wasn't for you finding Doyle, Elizabeth and Sophie wouldn't be here. Who better?"

"Oh damn it." Now she was going to cry on the baby. "Who's the Godfather?"

Morgan spoke up from the doorway, "Right here."

"And Elizabeth has nominated Henry and Thelma as honorary grandparents on her side. I've got Mom, of course, and then…um…" He looked a little sheepish.

"What?" Emily looked from him to Morgan.

Morgan had to. "Grandpa Dave."

"Oh. Oh, just for that I'm in."

Spencer reached out and stroked that downy soft head again. "Hey Sophie, your godmother is cooler than James Bond. I have video to prove it. She was throwing around grenades and everything."

Emily gently stroked Sophie's back as she started gumming that gown, right above the shamrock scar. She looked up at the two men watching her. "You know, I know I hurt everyone, but for this it was worth it."

**St. Martin's Episcopal Church**

**Woodley Park**

**Washington DC**

**Spencer**

It was almost Christmas. The church was bedecked with boughs of evergreens, mounds of poinsettias, a thousand twinkling lights. Outside the world was covered in a pure blanket of new fallen snow. Inside, in years past, he'd been made to understand, they had decked the place in rich colors, chosen red flowers, put up a rainbow of lights, all to celebrate the beauty and majesty of the birth of Christ. But this year, by agreement of the vast majority of the parish, they had chosen to deck the halls in pure white, the better to celebrate another new birth.

He stood at the front of the church, wearing the cream colored suit he should have worn to his wedding. Next to him, sheltered in his arms, Elizabeth wore a dress today instead of her usual clerical gear. She was still healing, still not back to work, but getting stronger and surer by the day. She expected to be saying mass again after the holiday season, but for now she was here as a Mother, not a Priest. She watched the proceedings through a pair of red-rimmed glasses which seemed to him to highlight her beauty and utterly suit.

The rest of their family was gathered around them. Hotch steadied Jack, who was standing on a chair so he could see. JJ and Will stood there holding a squirming Henry between them. Grandpa Dave had just passed a handkerchief to Thelma, who finally had the grandchild she always wanted. Ashley Seaver wasn't paying attention to the proceedings as much as she was watching Rev. Pat assist. Garcia and Kevin were manning a video feed back to Bennington, where Diana was watching with her friends and her doctor, just in case. Further out were Bobby and Sharon, Danny and Sam, Nanny and Rabbi Shulman and his wife; and behind and around them the rest of the parish and half the Bureau, or so it seemed. He thought he'd even seen John slip in the back. The small church was full to bursting. With friends and yes, family

And over there, by the side door, a smaller, dark man leaned up against the wall. Spencer spotted him there and was utterly shocked for a moment. Well, he thought, maybe he never really left after all. Maybe he has been there, would have been if I had truly needed him. So he just smiled and nodded a hello.

Jason Gideon smiled and nodded back.

A small noise from the front of the church pulled their attention. Sophia was fussing in protest as Emily and Morgan carefully held her over the baptismal font and Harry carefully dripped the water over her head. "Do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces that rebel against God?" Harry had asked them earlier as part of the rite, "Do you renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God?" I do, Spencer thought as he watched his family bond together. I will spend the rest of my life fighting evil in this world in order to make it safe for my family, to pass a better world on to Sophie. This is why they tried to stop me, to stop me from having this family, from knowing this love. I'm not alone and afraid anymore, my family has made me strong. And so do I promise to spend my life fighting the monsters? I do, I do, I do.

* * *

.

* * *

**Note:** While I'm sure Spencer and Elizabeth will have many more adventures and tales to tell, this part of their story has come to a close. Thank you all for reading along with me.

Much thanks to my Beta Reader REIDFANATIC for joining me on what became a marathon. I could not have come so far without her.

Now I will finish at least one of my other stories, and another is already in the works. Stay tuned.


End file.
